


White Desires

by paxnirvana



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxnirvana/pseuds/paxnirvana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the first series, the assassins encounter remnants of their enemy's work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me bad. Boys in chains. Boys in chains inspired by Kapital's opening credits... ::drool:: Non-arc story. Stand alone. I use 'An Assassin and White Shaman', 'Kapital' and 'Verbrechen-Strafe', but I completely ignore 'Dramatic Precious', 'Gluhen' and 'WeiSide B'. *wink*

~*~*~*~*~
    
    
    Look into the others eyes, many frustrations  
    Read between the lines, no words... just vibrations  
    Dont ignore hidden desires  
    Pay attention; you're playing with fire  
    Silence must be heard...
    
    Silence Must Be Heard - Enigma

~*~*~*~*~

They had brought him into a vast echoing space, dimly lit by a single obscured bulb so that the small pool of light fell only around the doorway. It was just enough illumination to follow the dull tiled floor as it stretched away unbroken into darkness, to hint at smooth concrete walls and the shadowy impression of a high ceiling. Echoes reinforced the impression of space. The room was cold in the way of unheated underground places; clammy and vaguely dusty. A level under the parking garage, perhaps. There had been odd blank places on the plans they'd perused. Construction voids, they'd thought. But it seemed someone had taken advantage of those empty spaces. Turned them into something else all together...

He'd been shoved through the rusty-hinged metal door by three men in anonymous dark suits, their hard faces impassive, into this place that shouldn't exist. They were fresh muscle, unscathed from the earlier battle. Part of the unexpectedly competent reinforcements that had surprised them before they could complete their mission. The briefing hadn't mentioned mercenaries of this quality - or quantity - being available to the target. A deadly omission, no doubt result of the still shaky state of Kritiker... or something had changed drastically between when the mission had been given and Weiß had struck. A leak of some kind, during the twelve-hour gap, that had allowed their target to prepare.

They'd fallen far too easily, Yohji Kudoh knew, and part of it was his fault. Rather than proceeding on to kill the target - one Enjoji Homa, supposedly cornered in a back office - he'd turned back. Had turned back because he'd seen Ken take a knife clean through the shoulder, and Yohji had been unexpectedly jarred by the sight of his teammate's eyes gone huge with shock, disbelief and pain. This was no faked injury. Ken's blood had dripped from the wound for real... and he had found himself leaping into the open to defend his wounded teammate, despite the fact that his weapon of choice worked far more effectively from the shadows. Still the wire had sung it's deadly song at his direction, felling the man behind Ken before he could twist the knife. Then Omi had broken cover too, scattering darts and caltrops amid their foes to delay them as he whisked Ken away... but that was the last he saw of them. He'd been cut off. Trapped by chance on the wrong side of the corridor from the planned escape route that Aya was holding open for them somewhere below.

He'd smiled grimly at his opponents over the top of his sunglasses. Then he remembered only the blur of battle in close quarters and blood and the growing certainty that this time he wasn't going to make it. After surviving Takatori and Schwarz. After the horror of Esset. After that bloody, gut-wrenching fiasco with General Powell and his American Rats. So here, in this miserable southern port town, he was finally going to buy it at the hands of hired mercs. There were too many guns. Too little cover. And he was running out of wire.

Then Aya had appeared.

Silent. Swift. Fierce. Hewing through their foes from behind like an angel of death. Almost shocking even him with the raw savagery of his attack. And for a while Yohji had felt a surge of hope that together they might actually make it out of there... but hope had disappeared in a blinding flash of pain and darkness as something impacted with the side of his head.

He hadn't been awake long now. Just long enough to figure he wasn't going to like whatever was in store for him. He'd been woken rudely with a kick to the ribs. Looked up to find himself surrounded by three goons in a tiny room that might have been a janitor's closet once but made an effective makeshift cell now. He was chained to a bolt in the wall, as if the heavy leather cuffs holding his arms behind his back weren't enough to deter escape. After unlocking the padlock, they'd dragged him out, silent and intent. Hauled him along until he managed to get his feet underneath him and push himself to his feet. That they'd let him walk on his own after that somehow wasn't reassuring in the slightest.

One of the burly, grim-faced thugs calmly stuck a gun in his already sore ear while another removed the restraints on his arms. His head ached; he had blood matted in his tumbled hair and a crackling dried line of it on the side of his face. Yohji watched his captors from under half-lidded eyes, a faint smirk on his lips for the caution with which they were treating him. His watch and gloves and coat were long gone, his belt and boots as well. The skin-hugging navy blue half-shirt he habitually wore under his mission coat revealed lean forearms as well as his tight stomach above the low-slung line of his pants. His feet were chilled by the floor.

The thugs hadn't even commented on his clothing. But then, he and Aya had taken out over a dozen armed men in little more than a couple minutes. It was understandable that they'd treat him with respect. What was puzzling him, truthfully, was why he was still alive.

And now he was free. Of course, free was relative. There were still three men surrounding him - two of them far bulkier than he. The man with the gun poked the muzzle sharply into the side of his head again to draw his attention. Time to die, maybe. Well, at least the other three had gotten away. And at least... it would be quick. Yohji let the smile curl deeper as the reality of his no doubt imminent death began to sink in, but didn't deign to look up, his loose hair falling around his face.

"The boss is watching, ne?" the thug with the gun in his ear said. "He likes a good show."

"And this should matter to me... why?" Yohji said, his voice carefully bare of emotion. Now that it was here, he almost welcomed the end.

The thug bared his teeth at him in a mocking grimace. "You'll live longer that way, punk."

"Ah, now you're assuming it's worth living around pathetic gutter trash like you..."

The gun poked him painfully again. He felt skin break and a fresh trickle of blood under his hair. Deliberately widened his half-concealed smile.

"Funny guy. Your friend will live longer that way too."

Friend? Fuck, he thought, stiffening slightly as alarm shocked through him. That must mean they'd managed to capture Aya too. Oh. Shit.

He was suddenly no longer so resigned to his fate. Not with Ay... a teammate at risk too. He turned his head slightly away as he fought to mask his dismay and the thug with the gun glowered at him.

"Not such hot shit after all, are you, pretty boy?" the man hissed at him as he twisted the barrel of the gun harder against Yohji's head. "Thought you'd get us easy, did you? Huh, well we got two of _you_." It was the first sign of open resentment for what they'd done. It told him a lot. That the men he'd killed had likely worked together for a while - had history. Hastily gathered muscle seldom cared what happened to each other. He didn't bother to reply, his mind racing, looking for clues that might somehow lead to their survival.

This wasn't exactly the same picture of a rogue, power-grabbing street-yakuza looking for outside help to cement his position that they'd been painted by the mission briefing. Something was beyond wrong with the whole situation. He'd been uneasy when Manx presented them with the mission, but unable to put his finger on the disquiet. It was similar to many they'd had in the past... too similar. From the start it had seemed almost routine; survey meeting site of potential alliance between murderously upstart yakuza and foreign interests - kill everyone present at meeting. But there had been far more than simple punks and brutish enforcers waiting for them. The men they had fought had been well-trained and professional.

One of the other two guards glared at him too, the look ugly with the promise of pain if he tried anything. But then, to Yohji's veiled astonishment, all three of them just backed out of the room, leaving him alone and unhindered. The metal door shut tight behind them with a heavy clang. He heard the rattling sound of a bolt being thrown. Not a lock that could be picked then, even if he had access to the tools concealed in his absent coat. Shit. Stuck for certain - unless there was another exit somewhere, which he sincerely doubted.

He stood where they had left him, looking cautiously around from under the cover of his long hair. The room beyond the small circle of light by the door remained obscured by darkness. It was nearly silent except for the heavy throb of his own pulse in his ears and the faint hum of basement heating and cooling systems somewhere outside. Which wasn't much help in placing his location in the building, since the plans had shown two separate boilers in the basement. Which, of course, was always presuming they hadn't moved him somewhere else entirely while he was unconscious...

He'd kind of expected this at least to be the kick-the-shit-out-of-the-assassin portion of the evening's entertainment - if they weren't going to kill him outright. That they'd apparently left him alone in here didn't bode well. Minutes dragged by in silence, but nothing happened. Finally, he sighed dramatically, tilted his head back and slipped both hands into the front pockets of his pants.

"Are we boring you, my friend?"

The rich, faintly mocking male voice came from up high and crackled slightly, so he could tell it was coming to him through a speaker system of some kind. He turned his startled flinch into an insolent toss of his head instead, looking around carefully.

"Yeah, actually."

A soft laugh. "Oh, I believe that can be changed."

With the clatter of heavy switches, the room went completely dark; electronically augmented laughter echoed off the walls. He kept his calm, uncaring pose with difficulty, not knowing what other kind of surveillance he might be under. But he was rattled. There was something too knowing, even smug, about that low laughter.

"Welcome to my playroom."

There was another low round of laughter and he bit back a curse. He didn't like the sound of that at all. The kind of people they encountered in this line of work who claimed to like 'games' were often dangerously random in their actions - if not outright insane. His hands fisted loosely at his sides and he dropped into a wary crouch, as prepared as he could be to defend himself without boots or weapons. But he wouldn't go down easy. Last defiance and all that shit.

After a just-a-few-minutes-too-long moment of darkness that scraped the tension higher in his nerves, a harsh spotlight flashed on deeper in the room casting a cone of light over a section of the floor several meters away from him. The stark light illuminated a single bound figure under its merciless glow.

Yohji sucked in a shocked breath before he could stop himself as he recognized the figure.

 _Aya._ Slumped on his knees on the cold tile floor. Stripped to only his black mission pants. His head lolled limp against one upraised arm; ragged hair, dulled by the intensity of the light to a washed-out pinkish-red, hung over his face. Pale skin over firm muscle seemed to almost glow against the surrounding darkness with only scattered bruising like shadows marring its perfection. Slack body held upright by wrists bound to a bar that hung from the ceiling, he looked like someone's darkest, kinkiest wet dream as he hung there. Thick leather cuffs on his wrists held his hands against a bar shoulder-width apart, while a heavy chain rose from a ring in the center of the bar on up to vanish into the blinding glare above.

Yohji's heart stuttered in his chest with an odd combination of tension, exhilaration and unease: Aya was alarmingly still. But after a moment, to his distinct relief, he could just make out the slight motion of the lean chest that indicated he was still breathing.

"Incredible, isn't he?" the voice announced with an ominous purr that made Yohji want to shiver. "Strength. Speed. Form. Deadly and yet so beautiful. I may just have to add him to my collection. It would be so _enlightening_ to study one such as this... for however long he lasts."

"What do you mean by that?" Yohji snapped, even as his nerves sang with sick apprehension. The set up. The tone. The language. This was no punk wanna-be yakuza boss. _This_ man was something else entirely. Just who the hell had the yakuza been making a deal with anyway? Kritiker had screwed up royally on the research of this mission. And now Weiß was paying the price.

"Do you know his family history?" the voice asked, filled with curiosity. Ignoring his question completely. "His background? He _is_ full Japanese despite his coloring, is he not?"

"Fuck you."

Laughter rolled through the room again. Yohji shifted his position slightly, wary of retaliation, while trying to pinpoint a location for the speakers since the camera that was no doubt trained on him was probably nearby.

"Now you... Tall. Agile. Hardy. A half-breed, definitely. Abandoned American military spawn, most likely."

Fury flashed hot in Yohji's veins. Not many guessed the truth of his heritage so accurately. He glared up at the ceiling. "Why the hell does it matter?"

"Ah, I am merely indulging a passion of mine... genetics. I am fascinated by the extremes of variation the human genome encompasses. Evolution has not stopped, my friend - oh, no. There are such exciting changes going on in the human species... from chemical exposure and food additives, new diseases and pollution. Such wondrous talents developing amid all the spectacular failures and deaths; even the appearance of abilities once thought only magic..."

Yohji sucked in a surprised breath. _Magic? Talents?_ The only 'talents' he'd ever encountered had been those sick bastards in Schwarz. But they were gone. There'd been no sign of them for nearly half a year now. They'd thought them dead when the museum-cum-temple had sunk into the sea with the corpses of those twisted old bastards who had apparently ruled Esset... or so they had all fervently hoped.

"...evolution continues, the pace subtle again... ah, but the set-back... such a waste..."

"What do you want with us?" Yohji demanded, interrupting the oddly rambling, half-murmured monologue sharply. Uneasy. Unsettled. Weiß had run into someone who talked something like this before: Masafume Takatori - brilliant but barking mad scientist. And long dead. Apparently madness was an occupational hazard for geneticists.

"What do _I_ want with _you_?" the voice said, laughing softly again. "Why until you and your companions interrupted today's rather prosaic dealings, my friend, I wanted for little that was not within my ability to obtain. But now... now my curiosity has been aroused. I would know why you came here. Who sent you. Who you all are. Especially... _him_."

The voice dropped to an intent murmur on the last word. In it was an echo of the kind of awed tone he'd heard over and over in the voices of those captivated by the redhead and his untouchable air, his alluring beauty. He should recognize it; he'd worked hard to remove it from his own voice long ago. But here - as prisoners - the focused interest in Aya alarmed rather than amused him. Hoping to deflect that potentially unhealthy curiosity, he opted for a pose of indifference. "Hell if I know," Yohji said, giving a deliberately careless shrug of his shoulders as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Ah," the voice said, the tone now light and condescending, "then you will surely not object if I shoot him..."

Yohji heard a series of distinctive metallic clicks from the ceiling that sounded sickeningly like an automatic weapon being readied. His mind focused frantically. No other doors at his level, maybe, but an overhead gallery hidden from his sight behind the floodlight... _shit!_

"No!" He sprinted forward through the intervening darkness without further thought, diving across the thankfully unobstructed floor toward Aya's slumped body even as the sharp sound of a gunshot echoed through the concrete room. Floor tile right beside Aya's folded legs shattered in a spray of slender shards like a dropped plate, pinging and clattering across the remaining tile. Yohji came to a rolling stop at the edge of the cone of light, poised warily, heart thundering wildly in his chest, anxious gaze scanning Aya for injury.

No blood... not shot... not yet.

His relief was tainted by the eerily delighted laughter that echoed through the room, rebounding off the hidden walls and booming in his ears like an assault. Ragged red bangs shifted as Aya's head rolled fractionally against his suspended arm, disturbed at last, but by shot or laughter he couldn't tell.

Yohji drew himself to his feet slowly, keeping his face impassive even though it was far too late to truly disguise his concern, watching Aya closely for further signs of consciousness. He thought he saw a slow shudder go through the pale form, but there was no other response. Drugged, most likely.

"That was a _most_ enlightening display," the voice said. "I must thank you."

Shit and shit again... No sense even pretending now. He moved fully into the light, dropping to a crouch beside Aya's still form. Reaching out an amazingly steady hand, he caught the finely chiseled chin and tilted Aya's face up carefully toward the light to examine it closer. To his shock, Aya's eyes were half way open but his pupils beneath heavy lids were contracted to pin-pricks by whatever he'd been drugged with. The wide violet irises almost seemed to glow in the harsh overhead light, flickering only faintly in response. Yohji hissed in a concerned breath.

"He is aware - sees and hears and feels everything with exquisite intensity - but may do nothing of his own volition," their tormentor informed him suddenly. "I fell upon the combination of drugs quite by accident... An interesting effect, don't you think?"

And a singularly effective torment for someone like Aya as well, Yohji thought with a sick lurch in his stomach. To be rendered a prisoner in his own body, stripped of control, forced to feel... had anything else been done to him while he was so helpless? Impotent fury churned in Yohji's gut, chipping at his calm façade.

For the first time he wondered exactly how long he'd been unconscious himself. And how long Aya had been here in the 'playroom' before him.

He hastily examined Aya further. Was relieved to find that there weren't any extreme bruises or unusual wounds on the lean body - aside from the usual minor ones that could be attributed to the battle before. Nothing to indicate that he'd been beaten or tortured since. But he did notice a spot of matted hair on the back of Aya's head, dark with crusted blood. He'd been taken down from behind, it seemed - a rarity. Aya seldom let himself get in bad tactical positions. But then, Aya rarely came back to help, either...

"What kind of sick game are you playing?" Yohji demanded through gritted teeth, gaze fixed on Aya's glazed eyes.

Low laughter rolled through the room again. The bastard up there was having entirely too much fun at their expense. And it was starting to get on his nerves.

He glanced around surreptitiously as he let Aya's head sag back down against his chest again, then lowered his hands down to his own thighs, fisting them there. The buckles that held Aya trapped were so close that his fingers actually itched to undo them. But he didn't dare - not with that trigger-happy bastard above him. Now that he had some idea of the location of their tormenter, Yohji was able to isolate the sound of quiet shifting above and to his left just before the voice returned over the speaker system to taunt him again, curling around him with a tone mildly irritated and yet still condescending.

"It is a game of my own invention, of course. You cost me several reliable men tonight - you and your katana-wielding companion - and they are a difficult resource to replace. Tell me, do you exclusively use the harigane?"

"Why don't you drop that gun down here and find out?" he answered with a snap, shading his face with his hair as he looked around again for something he could use as a weapon.

He couldn't see much beyond the cone of light, but there were a few small shards of broken asphalt floor tile on the far side of Aya. Nothing really big enough to do serious damage, but maybe enough for a distraction. _If_ he could even get his hands on them without being spotted. _If_ Aya weren't chained in one spot and drugged insensible. And _if_ he had a prayer of getting them out that barred door at the far end in the first place. The impulse to leave Aya behind and attempt escape on his own never quite surfaced; the cold, logical part of his mind told him he should at least try - Aya most likely would if their positions were reversed - but something stopped him from seriously considering it despite that knowledge. Loyalty? Friendship? Sheer stubbornness?

"I don't believe I will accept that challenge at this time, my friend," the voice answered his flip comment with a ripple of genuine amusement. "But your spirit is impressive. I shall enjoy finding out how long it will endure."

"Long enough to see you dead, you bastard," Yohji said under his breath, fists tightening against his thighs. There was no telling exactly what the crap was that Aya had been given - and no telling how long it would last - but he shot a frowning look over at the limp form, willing the other man to show some sign that he was coming out of it. He might as well be tied up too as long as Aya was like this. Not that they'd be in all that much better shape if the swordsman were able to move, but he'd certainly feel better if he knew Aya could at least glare again.

"And I believe I would be far less inclined to shoot you if you moved away from your companion now."

Aware of the gun that was no doubt trained on him at that moment, Yohji rose slowly to his feet. Then he took a wary half-step back.

"Another step, please." Yohji complied reluctantly. "Yes, thank you. Such extraordinary protective behavior you have all displayed for each other; a trait quite unusual in contract killers. The four of you worked your way through Homa's men with remarkable rapport, almost anticipating each other's moves, complimenting each other's strengths and bolstering weaknesses even when the battle with my men began to go against you." There was a kind of covetous admiration in the voice now, making Yohji frown slightly as he listened. "The ability to retain such precision even under adverse conditions is something that usually arises only after many years of experience. Yet you are all so young - early in your twenties, I assume, save for the blond boy... and he appears quite young to display such exceptional skill and ruthlessness as well. I find the four of you most intriguing - how long have you worked as a unit? Who trained you?"

"Life," Yohji shot back, lifting his head to flash a half-smirk toward the watcher above, determinedly covering his growing unease. From the way the man was talking, there may have been cameras recording them during the battle. A secondary security system Omi had missed somehow, somewhere maybe. Shit. So not only did this freak have _them_ , he could also have hard evidence of Weiß's existence. The kiddo was going to be pissed about that. _If_ they survived to tell him about it.

Low laughter rolled through the room. "Such determined insolence, 'Balinese'." Yohji tried to suppress the reflexive jerk at the almost fond use of his code name, but knew he was too brightly lit, too exposed for the small motion to be hidden from his observer.

"Just a cover name, I presume," the voice said with more than a trace of satisfaction. "Yet more than you care for me to know, I see. And this one is 'Abyssinian' and the injured one 'Siberian'. I was unable to determine the blond boy's designation... a shame. Perhaps the three names will be sufficient for my inquiries."

"Hope you like 'Cat Fancy'," Yohji said, flipping his hair back to grin sharply toward the light and the watcher hidden beyond. "I hear the subscriptions are a good deal."

"You are quite insolent, for one in your position," the voice said mildly, all amusement gone of a sudden. "As endearing a trait as I find it, however, I do find myself growing somewhat pressed for patience..."

Yohji heeded the faint warning in that tone and stayed silent, eyes narrowed to a glare, hands fisted at his sides.

"Better. Now. Why were you sent here?" the voice demanded calmly.

He tried to frown past the light, eyes squinting tightly. Thought he could almost see the gleam of a pistol barrel facing in his direction. Readying himself and banking heavily on both the fascination for Aya that he'd heard in the man's voice already and the sheer curiosity the man had shown for both of them, Yohji snapped, "To take out the trash."

Yohji rolled to the side as the gun discharged again, but the shot wasn't aimed at him as he had thought: instead an asphalt tile directly between him and Aya exploded into shards. Several of them pelted Aya's slack body, a few drawing blood. The bound man didn't react to the injuries with anything more than a soft moan and a slight roll of his head, still deep under the influence of whatever drugs had been pumped into him. Yohji cursed and spun back to his feet again, glaring furiously up toward his tormentor.

"If you do not answer the next question in a fashion of which I approve, I will shoot your lovely 'Abyssinian' in the stomach."

Yohji squinted against the light, then bared his teeth briefly before he jerked his head to the side in defeat, glaring at the two thin ribbons of blood that dripped slowly down Aya's ribs. Imagination all too vividly showing him that creamy flesh torn apart by a bullet, blood cascading... He shook his head once, viciously, to dispel the image. Courting his own death was one thing, but...

"Why were you sent here?" the voice repeated.

"To kill Enjoji Homa," he answered honestly, eyes closing.

"Ah." There was a pause. He heard soft metallic sounds and a rustling, then, "Who sent you?"

"We came here for Homa," he said wearily, staring at the blood on Aya's skin in grim fascination. "Does it matter who sent us?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not." The words were said gently, as if to a backwards child, but he could hear the steel beneath. "Answer the question, please."

He had no choice. And it wasn't as if the organization was widely known anyway. Odds were the name would mean nothing to this freak.

"Kritiker."

"Indeed."

The single softly-spoken word made Yohji's head rise slowly, a sick feeling of dread filling him. The next question - for someone who was just a free-lance psycho - would logically be 'who is Kritiker?' He waited for the question anxiously, warily. Because the alternative threatened to make him scream in frustration as hints fell into place. It wasn't fair; they should be done with those Esset bastards. They'd killed the Elders and taken out a good two or three hundred underlings at that freakish ceremony nearly six months ago now. Esset had been broken and scattered even more completely than Kritiker - they'd thought. Damn. It was just their shitty luck to run into one of the survivors now.

There was a hollow _thuck_ sound, followed instantly by a burst of pain in his shoulder. He clawed frantically at the tranquilizer dart that hung there, but the edges of his vision were already darkening, his gaze narrowing down like a tunnel until all he could see was the pale glow of Aya's body stark under the glaring light in front of him. It came closer, suddenly, and he wondered what the hell he thought he was doing as he crumpled across Aya's thighs, body slack, eyes staring straight ahead.

Oh fuck - he drugged me too, was his last thought before everything winked away into darkness.

~*~*~*~*~

Yohji woke to the sensation of cool fingers trailing gently across his brow, brushing his hair back. They felt soothing against his dry, hot skin. He rolled toward them, groaning softly at the lingering ache in his head, the faint nausea churning his stomach. How much had he drunk last night...?

"Ah, but you are quite exquisite as well, are you not?" a hushed voice said. "Blessed with the hardiness of cross-breeding - which sometimes produces such interesting spontaneous mutations. I thought you dyed it, but no, this is your natural color as well..."

His eyes snapped open as the strange words penetrated his hazy mind, bringing memory back in a rush, and he jerked his head away from the unwelcome touch amid the sound of chillingly familiar laughter.

"And the eyes too. Such a lovely green."

He was lying on a bed that had the head raised enough for him to be half-sitting; a hospital bed complete with bars along the edge. Heavy leather straps bound his wrists to his sides, another bound him securely across the chest. Over him leaned a strange man. He blinked his eyes hard. A very strange man.

 _Weiß_ , was his first thought, even as improbable eyes the color of rubies stared thoughtfully back at him through narrow steel-framed glasses perched on an elegant nose set in a moderately handsome face. Not young, but not old either; strangely ageless. Long, thick glass-pale white hair was gathered in a loose tail that hung beside narrow features that were still recognizably Asian. But white beyond white. _Albino._ Thin lips turned up in a sharp, knowing smile at his shocked perusal.

"Ah, yes," the man said quietly, that oddly disturbing gaze never wavering. "We had yet to meet face to face, had we not, my friend? Allow me to introduce myself; I am Shiroi."

"No kidding," Yohji managed around the cottony feeling in his throat, his voice little more than a croak.

The smile didn't shift but the red eyes narrowed fractionally behind gray-tinted lenses.

"Doctor Hirohito Shiroi, to be exact," the white man said, straightening up and turning toward a rolling table nearby. Yohji examined his captor more closely, looking beyond the shock of his coloring. The bastard was tall - probably not as tall as he was, but close - and slender to the point almost of seeming effeminate; his wrists and hands were delicate where they emerged from the sleeves of a pristine white lab coat worn over an ice-blue dress shirt, matching tie and white pants. Every movement was deliberate and graceful, yet he still gave the impression of subtle strength, exuded an aura of competent confidence. Not someone to underestimate, this freak, he was sure.

The doctor turned back to face him, a small glass of water, complete with bent straw, in his hand. Yohji eyed the glass suspiciously as the doctor leaned closer to him, the other fragile white hand rising to guide the straw toward his mouth. He could smell the water inside and thirst clawed at his throat, but he kept his lips pressed tightly together, his expression falling into mulish lines.

"The water is untainted, I assure you," the doctor said with a twist of his lips. An ice-colored brow rose in amusement as the red eyes danced. "Come now, be rational, my friend. If I had wished to drug you again I could have done so with ease long before you awakened. Now drink; the sedative has dehydrated you."

Yohji glared at him for a moment longer, but then the sense of the man's words sank in. Yeah, he could have just as easily been drugged again while he was out... or killed. But that didn't mean there wasn't something in the water. His breath rasped in the back of his throat. Lips twisted stubbornly tighter as the straw moved closer. His gaze flickered up, met the doctor's. He could see nothing there but serene amusement sparked with the light of sharp intelligence.

"My my, how stubborn. Are you marking this off as a victory on some appropriately masculine scorecard in your mind?" The laughter was almost delighted. "The human body can go only so long without water, my friend. The denial of it can be an effective torment. Yet here I am, offering it to you."

Yohji frowned as he met the doctor's red gaze warily. That was all true. And that only made him more uneasy.

"Where's A - ah... where's my friend?" he murmured, barely catching himself before he gave away Aya's name. He might have told the doctor indirectly about Weiß, but hell if he'd give up it's members that easily.

The doctor smiled knowingly at him, still holding the straw ready for him to drink from. "Your compatriot is lying in a bed similar to this one on the far side of that curtain," the doctor said, inclining his head back slightly toward the greenish, hospital-style barrier drawn across the room behind him, the glass of water still held patiently before Yohji. Tension thickened the air. Yohji shifted against his restraints. A snow-pale brow rose slowly even as the strange red gaze seemed to soften slightly.

"Drink," the doctor urged again.

Confusion and anger merged; frustrated helplessness flared. There was no point to this. He knew the doctor was a bastard and a manipulator who had threatened his life several times already. The last person he should trust. But when it came down to it, Yohji knew he was a survivor - despite his reckless behavior before. Yohji grudgingly parted his lips and let the doctor place the straw between them. He sucked up the small amount of water offered, rolling it around his mouth before swallowing to better ease the parched tissues. It tasted bland and slightly stale, just as one expected water that had been sitting out for a while to taste. Not overtly drugged. But that didn't mean shit, really.

Dr. Shiroi favored him with a gentle smile, one that was almost paternal in it's way, as he turned to set the empty glass back on the table.

"There, you see? Not so difficult after all."

Yohji frowned and felt almost that he'd failed somehow. Been tricked. But he just lay quietly against the mattress, narrowly watching the doctor as he turned back to face him. Shiroi brushed aside his lab coat on one side and slid a hand into the pocket of his slacks, completely casual and at ease. The unusual gaze ran over him slowly from bottom to top and Yohji became hyper-aware of his own position. His ankles were strapped out to the corners of the bed, opening his legs wide and making him feel inordinately exposed. Well, at least he was still wearing his pants, he conceded. The hospital motif hadn't been taken that far yet. His hands were buckled down at the wrist to the raised rails on the side of the bed while the strap over his chest kept him firmly in place in the center of the mattress. There would be no attacking the doctor. Not until the doctor released him anyway. Which Shiroi seemed hardly likely to do. The idea of freedom sat like lead in his stomach.

"Are you considering ways to kill me?" Shiroi asked after a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Amusement vying with the cool interest.

"No, but that's a good idea. Thanks for reminding me..." Yohji said, baring his teeth at him briefly. Shiroi's smile grew fractionally wider even as one brow rose.

"You are quite determined to vex me are you not, my good Balinese?" The doctor raised his free hand and trailed it slowly up Yohji's arm. The touch was feather-light and somehow cool. He firmly stifled the urge to flinch away, not wanting to reveal how much the doctor's touch disturbed him. "Due to unfortunate circumstance, the quality of subjects available to me has been quite poor lately. But you and your... friend have managed to intrigue me quite thoroughly." Alarm flared through him. _Aya._ Had the doctor done something to Aya while they were both drugged? Yohji fought back the spurt of panic that thought brought, forcing himself to appear calm even as Shiroi's hand paused on his shoulder, a finger tracing over his tattoo curiously. The doctor narrowed his gaze for a moment as he examined the design, then it flickered quickly up to catch Yohji's. It felt as if the doctor were peering into his soul for an instant; his breath caught and his pulse stuttered in reaction. "It's a pity that I will have to damage that brilliant self-assurance and defiance, but you have already handed me all the tools I need to do so."

Yohji couldn't stifle the flinch then when Shiroi's hand fluttered from his shoulder to his face, long, slender fingers cupping his chin, a thumb skimming quickly across his lips. He jerked his head away, eyes wide, and the doctor let his hand fall to his own side again with a soft laugh, the red eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Ah, yes, quite bewitchingly exquisite," the doctor murmured and Yohji grimaced, lips still tingling where Shiroi's thumb had brushed across them. He wanted to reach up and scrub his hand across them to erase the sensation, but couldn't. The proprietary tone in Shiroi's voice made his fists clench at his side and a shudder of revulsion pass through him. He was getting sick of the doctor's creepy smiles and the way he watched him so closely. It was almost obsessive.

"So bewitching that perhaps I am simply reluctant to do what I must," the doctor went on with a faintly rueful smile, that oddly tender look entering his expression again. "But there are many ways to elicit cooperation..."

Shiroi turned to the dividing curtain. Catching pale green fabric in one hand, he walked slowly toward the wall, shuttered gaze still fixed on Yohji. It felt as if magician were about to reveal a trick, anticipation gathering thick in the air.

As the curtain slid aside, he saw that the doctor had not lied to him... yet. Yohji blinked in shock. Aya _was_ there, bound to a hospital bed much like he was, only with the head of the bed lowered flat and his arms stretched above his head instead of bound at his sides. His ankles were strapped firmly down to the corners like Yohji's own. A heavy strap also crossed Aya's chest to hold him down too, but he was also blindfolded and gagged and stripped completely naked.

Creamy-pale flesh shivered in the sudden wash of air across bare skin. Aya was awake and able to move again, it seemed, as his head jerked toward the metallic scraping sound of the curtain along its track as it opened. Brief relief filled Yohji. At least Aya didn't look any more hurt than the last time he'd seen him. In fact, the shallow cuts on Aya's side had even been neatly bandaged.

"Shit," he breathed, scarcely able to tear his gaze away from the other man. Yohji was dimly aware of Dr. Shiroi smiling his creepy little smile as he avidly absorbed his reaction to the sight of his friend's condition.

"Interesting," Shiroi said, drawing a flicker of Yohji's attention before he walked slowly over to Aya's bedside. The doctor removed a pair of thin, almost translucent, latex gloves from his coat pocket. Tugged them on over his hands with easy familiarity and smoothed them neatly into place. The deliberate preparation made Yohji's skin crawl uneasily.

Without hesitation, a slender gloved hand, whiter even than Aya's own pale flesh, skimmed down Aya's knee and along his thigh toward the patch of pale red hair at the core of his body. The swordsman tensed, muscles quivering at the unexpected touch, knees jerking up as far as possible against the ankle restraints, confirming that Aya was indeed awake and able to move again. Yohji struggled to keep the outrage, the indignation off his face at the doctor's action. He knew that Shiroi was still watching him, trying to provoke a response. Knew it and still had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from snarling.

"I understand your fascination, my friend. This one is quite... alluring. And somewhat... familiar, I believe," the doctor said, pausing the motion of his hand briefly as he pursed his lips, turned his head and frowned down at Aya for a moment for shaking his head slowly. "Yet I am certain I would remember working with one so unique as this. Ah, well, it will return to me in time. It always does."

Glancing back again, the doctor caught Yohji's gaze once again, then, when it skittered angrily away from his amused stare to track with outrage down to where his hand lay, the doctor let that hand flatten on Aya's inner thigh. Aya shuddered deeply, and helpless fury mixed with dread ripped through Yohji. What exactly was the bastard up to? The doctor paused a moment before his fingers began to glide steadily higher in little searching sweeps. Aya jerked his hips as far away from the encroaching hand as he could. Which wasn't far at all, given his bonds. The doctor just smiled wider, leaning closer and keeping his hand in place no matter how Aya twisted, his gaze fixed on Yohji even as Aya's struggles grew more urgent, futilely trying to escape the invasive contact.

"Don't touch him!" Yohji snapped at last, unable to stay quiet any longer. Knowing Aya's abhorrence of any kind of excess familiarity... to be bound like this and touched so intimately... unable to prevent it, even to anticipate it... Something furious and wild and only thinly masked by anguished dismay surged through him making his lip curl in a snarl.

"You care deeply about this man I am touching, don't you, Balinese?" Shiroi said, his voice low, his gaze thoughtful. "So possessive - don't bother to deny it, it's clear to see. Interesting... are you lovers?"

Angry heat flamed in Yohji's face; Aya might be blindfolded but he could still hear everything that was said. Shiroi was clearly playing them both, but taking some twisted pleasure in watching him squirm in particular. Yet he couldn't stop himself from rising to the bait. "No! You bastard... get your damn hands off of him!" he answered furiously, tugging wildly at his own restraints, head thrashing against the raised mattress behind him.

"If you are not lovers, then it should not matter to you what I do to him..." The pale, gloved hand slid up the last few inches and cupped Aya's genitals gently, almost tenderly. Aya made an abrupt, strangled sound behind his gag and froze; all struggling stopped. But then, Yohji didn't doubt that any man who had been stripped naked, tied up and blindfolded by an enemy and who then felt someone's hand on their balls would do the same. He knew he likely would. Shiroi smiled faintly, red eyes gleaming as they stared into his own. Yohji's stomach lurched with a strange mixture of dread and shame and outrage, and it suddenly seemed almost as if the violation of Aya's person were happening to him as well.

"Shit.. stop it..." he groaned, "don't touch him... you bastard..."

Indifferent to his protests, Shiroi's hand moved completely over Aya's contracted scrotum and flaccid cock. Yohji could only watch, unable to tear his gaze away, as the doctor slipped a thumb between cock and balls, and lifted his hand just enough to encircle the cock, rolling the soft flesh down gently, almost clinically between his fingers. Yohji could see Aya swallowing hard behind his gag, throat working. He watched the sweat start on the lean body, the tiny tremors that passed through tense muscle. And yet Aya remained almost ominously still save for the faintly unsteady jerking of his stomach as he sucked in quick, shallow breaths through his nose. Shiroi tilted his head to the side to look back at Yohji, his long tail of pale hair slipping down his shoulder to fall across Aya's thighs. Aya jumped violently at the sudden contact, his belly heaving wildly for a moment.

"Tell him how much you want it to be you who is touching him like this." The words were low, sibilant and insistent, Shiroi's voice almost sing-song in its coaxing. "Tell this lovely one that, my friend."

"Wh-what?" Yohji gasped. The doctor's eyes glimmered with avid interest behind his glasses as they met Yohji's appalled stare.

"Tell him how the sight of him bound like this excites you. Tell him how much you want him," the doctor went on, voice husky as his little finger probed down below the wrinkled skin of Aya's scrotum before sweeping up and around the root of his cock to join the rest of his fingers in their grasp. Squeezing the delicate flesh with deliberate intent now, not clinically at all.

"Tell him how much you want your hand where mine is..."

Aya's chin jerked higher, his body bowing as Shiroi began to stroke his cock in earnest. At first gently, and then harder, in long, deliberate strokes that slid a thumb over the head at the end of each. The swordsman shuddered in helpless response, hips shrinking futilely back into the bed, choked gasps of angry denial coming from behind the gag. But direct stimulation was too much for his body to endure and Aya slowly grew hard before his eyes at Shiroi's direction.

"...how much you want to know how he feels in your hand as the blood flows into his erection..."

Yohji could only watch and listen, unable to tear his gaze away. The white hand encircling the pink, blood-flushed cock as it grew until it was standing rigid, the shine of fluid at the tip, soft red hair scant beneath. Beyond it lifted the hard arch of Aya's sculpted body, writhing in denial. A body seen so many times, but only in glimpses; when practicing katas, in the forced intimacy of the trailer, in passing in the always-inadequate bathrooms at their temporary safehouses. Drawing him, always, like a moth to flame. All strength and grace and lethal beauty. A body watched surreptitiously for months, coveted, but never touched... like he longed to touch now... trapped as it was... bound... He felt an eager surge in his own groin that sickened him.

"Tell him these things and perhaps I will release him and question only you."

"You fucking bastard," Yohji gasped as he finally yanked his gaze away, heart pounding wildly in his chest even as his own cock grew steadily harder. Hating himself for it; hating Shiroi more. He glared narrowly at Shiroi, trying not to let his gaze drift back to the steady motion of the doctor's hand. Or listen to the muted, involuntary sounds those motions drew from Aya. But his gaze was drawn inevitably down to see the flash of pre-come shine at the reddened tip only to jerk guiltily away again. The doctor's mouth twisted knowingly, eyes twinkling with avid fascination and he knew there was no way out now. Yohji squeezed his eyes shut, teeth clenched tightly against the truth. There was no way to win here. No matter how hard he tried to hide, how little he said. Things he'd only dared acknowledge to himself with the feeble excuse of alcohol this sick bastard had somehow picked up on and was skillfully using to crack his defenses. And to crack Aya's...

He heard a strangled groan from Aya. Heard the distinctive sound of hand on flesh, stroking wetly. It tore at him like a knife. How much could Aya endure? A straight beating, without question... but this... not this kind of torture... this intimate assault... he wanted to... had to stop it... Another tiny sound from Aya, muffled by the gag, and Yohji lunged desperately against his own restraints, arms quivering, wrists aching, a panicked feeling he didn't want to name like an ache in his chest.

"Yes, I want him!" Yohji's voice broke, shattering on the words at first and then growing stronger until he was almost shouting, yanking hard on his wrists and welcoming the pain of abraded skin. "Yes, damn you, seeing him tied up turns me on! I want him... I want to touch him like that... I want to fuck him... gods forgive me... There! Shiroi... you _bastard_... Are you happy? Now stop it!"

A slow, satisfied smile curved across the eerie face and suddenly the doctor bent down low over Aya's chest, his tail of white hair trailing across shuddering flesh - but the gloved hand did not stop moving. Instead, Shiroi looked almost tenderly down at the raised chin, the bobbing throat, the obscured face beneath blindfold and gag. Sweat had matted strands of the red hair to damp skin, Yohji noted as he could only stare at Aya, curses and demands backing up in his suddenly tight throat. There was a trickle of blood running down the pale chin from beneath the gag. The sound of desperate, muffled gasps for breath escaped from beneath it as well.

"Now you know," Shiroi said to Aya, his hand moving faster. "From his own lips, as I promised you... you know exactly how he wants you."

"What are you saying? Shut up! Stop, you sick bastard! Stop it!" Yohji shouted, now frantic and lunging desperately against his own bonds. The hospital bed shook and rattled loudly with his effort. The strap across his chest cut into his skin cruelly but he barely felt it. His gaze was fixed on Aya... Aya who was trapped with that demonic doctor bending over him, that slender hand moving relentlessly on his cock.

"I'll remember this..." Yohji snarled at Shiroi in between curses. "I'll fucking cut your damn hand off for touching him like that you sick freaking pervert! I said what you wanted, now, god damn it, leave him _alone_!"

"So possessive, isn't he? But that's why you came back for him, ne?" Shiroi continued, oblivious to Yohji's rage, red gaze flickering over Aya's face alone as it flushed beneath the bindings. "Because you know this... and you want him to own you..." The red head began to roll wildly back and forth on the mattress. In denial... in fury... just trying to escape the insidious, damning, patently false words... yet Yohji now could only listen too, eyes wide, heart racing, a sickly eager feeling lodged in his gut warring with the outrage. "And you want him to bind you like this and hold you down and take the terrible burden of responsibility away..."

Yohji roared his outrage as Aya made a desperate, choking sound under the gag, head straining away even as Shiroi worked him. Yohji threw himself against his restraints again, blind to reason, to prudence. Knowing only that he had to stop it; arms twisted wildly until wrists were raw. To no avail. Furious and helpless, he almost didn't notice when the doctor reached into the pocket of his lab coat with his free hand and pulled out a small jar. Shiroi was still talking to the bound man, but Yohji couldn't hear the words over his own spewed curses, the futile clattering of his restraints. Aya was arching up, body as taut as wire as Shiroi jerked him off faster and faster. And then there was a hard shudder and the doctor deftly slipped the jar over the end of Aya's cock just as he came, spurting helplessly into the glass.

"Bastard! What the hell are you _doing_?!" Yohji shouted in sudden shock.

But it was clear to him now that the doctor was collecting a sample. Of Aya's _semen_. But why? Gritting his teeth, breath whistling through them sharply from his exertions, Yohji could only glare as the doctor turned away from the bed, releasing Aya's cock almost absently now even as he held the jar up before him, examining the contents critically. Shiroi slipped a lid out of his pocket and secured it over the jar. Then he gave Yohji a sidelong glance, a smugly pleased smile on his face.

"I do so thank you for your able assistance, Balinese," the doctor said and gave him a mocking inclination of his head. Yohji gathered what little moisture he had in his mouth and spat at him, fury spiking when the projectile fell short. The doctor just raised an admonishing brow at him before moving away from him, circling the bed that held Aya. There was another green hospital-style curtain beyond the bed that the doctor disappeared behind. Yohji heard a door open, then the brief hiss of an auto-closing mechanism before the door thunked softly closed behind the doctor.

"Shit. That fucking _bastard_ ," Yohji cursed, glaring after the doctor for a moment. Suddenly reluctant to lower his gaze to look at Aya again in the other bed. What could he say to him? Nothing. But he still felt driven to try.

"Ay - Abyssinian," he called, correcting himself mid-word. Shiroi was a tricky bastard. He wouldn't put it past the sick fuck to bug the room to listen in when they thought they were alone. Particularly after... Then he stopped, throat thick, mind going blank. What _could_ he say?

Aya was lying relatively still again, his face turned away, his stomach still jerking with rapidly drawn breaths. It had to be hard for him to breathe only through his nose, the gag making it so much more difficult to recover his breath after... Yohji broke that thought off, not wanting to remember and letting his indignation flare in its stead. To be manipulated like that... what the hell did Shiroi want with that kind of sample? Aya needed to know what had happened - why he had been used that way. Maybe... maybe it would help. He deliberately ignored thinking about the words Shiroi had uttered just before Aya climaxed. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"He was taking a... a sample," he said as calmly as he could manage. Watched Aya react to his voice, the obscured face turning toward him slightly, but not facing him fully. Yet he knew Aya was listening. "He used a sterile jar and gloves. I think he took blood while we were out. I've got a bandage inside my elbow." He glanced over Aya's stretched arms for confirmation. Found it. "You do too."

Aya couldn't answer him but he could see the tension growing in his body again. Yohji dragged his gaze up to Aya's face when he found it wandering down the lean, pale chest toward the concave belly and... lower. Felt the heat rush into his own face again, the self-disgust wash through him when he realized he was still hard. What did that make him then? He was even more twisted than Shiroi if he got off on watching his friend's humiliation. And yet...

"We'll get out of here and we'll get that sick bastard when we do it," he vowed grimly, falling back against the bed and forcing his eyes closed. Forcing his mind to silence. Not letting himself think for a time. Trying to ignore the throb in his groin, he focused on the aches of the rest of his body instead. On the raw places he'd scraped on his chest and his wrists when he'd fought his bonds - trying to get free to stop that travesty of desire. He hissed in a breath. Those small pains suddenly became a welcome distraction... but they were an inadequate punishment.

He couldn't keep his eyes closed for long. Couldn't bear to leave them both so vulnerable, and yet once they were open his gaze slid inevitably to Aya. He fought it for a time, tried to keep his eyes on the red hair, the bloody chin, but they insisted on drifting down. Until he found himself guiltily devouring the display spread out beside him. Aya was creamy pale skin stretched over lean muscle, limbs long and elegant. There was surprising strength in that slender body, as Yohji well knew. It was a swordsman's form, honed by an iron will that had no care for the incidental beauty it produced. The man within had little awareness of the dark aura of sensuality that came with every motion, every action. Powerful. Graceful. Controlled.

And now bound, with leather hard over his mouth. Over his eyes. On his limbs, holding him to the bed. Aya had been rendered vulnerable. Defenseless. Yohji's pulse sped up as guilty memory surged and he yanked his gaze away again at last. He bit his lip, anguished and heart-sick that something in him found true excitement in those facts. He was a bastard for that, even though he knew he'd had thoughts along these lines about Aya long before Shiroi came along. _Especially_ because of that, guilt prodded him to admit. But how had the doctor _known_?

"Those things I said..." he said, the guilt sharpening, tearing at him inside for simply not being able to stop looking at Aya even though Aya couldn't know that he was. Couldn't see the gleam of lust he knew was in his eyes. That Shiroi had seen long before. "I had to. I'm sorry."

The bound head turned toward him slightly, chin rising. Aya swallowed hard, throat working, body tensing a moment before subsiding into a posture that was simply less tense and not truly relaxed. Yohji frowned, uncertain how to interpret that.

"You should rest. I'll keep watch, okay? "

Aya's head jerked aside in a clear rejection. Yohji sighed.

"Who knows when that sicko will come back, ne? We need to be ready for anything."

The red head jerked aside again and Yohji went silent, words failing him at the sight of that averted head. The uneasy wait began.

\- - continued - -


	2. Chapter 2

~*~*~*~*~
    
    
    Look into the others eyes, many frustrations  
    Read between the lines, no words... just vibrations  
    Don't ignore hidden desires  
    Pay attention; you're playing with fire  
    Silence must be heard...
    
    Silence Must Be Heard - Enigma

~*~*~*~*~

Time passed slowly, unmeasured but felt in every uneasy beat of his heart. Yohji examined the room as thoroughly as he could from his bed in an effort to keep himself distracted. There were no windows; the walls were simple concrete painted hospital-white, the floor was covered with gray faux-tile patterned linoleum. Green curtains on ceiling tracks and tall rolling tables, IV racks, pipes that ended in gas valves, and multiple power plugs as well as other odd electrical equipment ran openly along the walls; all things that could make up an ordinary hospital room. There was a sink on the wall opposite the single door and a glass-front cabinet filled with the odds and ends one might expect to find in a medical clinic; bandages, bottles of antiseptic, syringes, brightly labeled drugs. It was only moderately warm in there. Heat came into the room through a narrow duct in the ceiling.

Shiroi had not returned immediately to torment them again, as he'd half expected. But then thugs hadn't been sent in to haul them off and beat hell out of them either, which was something else he'd half expected. He wondered if those were good signs or not.

Aya eventually fell into a light, uneasy doze. He succumbed either from the drugs still in his system, the passing of adrenaline or simply from boredom; Yohji couldn't tell. But he slept with his face turned toward Yohji, red bangs falling down over the blindfold, the lean body tense even in sleep.

Yohji lay with his head turned toward his companion as well, watching over him as he'd promised. And tried not to stare at his partner's exposed body. Tried to keep his mind from circling endlessly around the images of what had happened earlier too, and failed miserably. He kept seeing flashes of Aya arching up against his bonds, cock hard, body taut. First shuddering in denial, in rejection but ultimately coming - but under the influence of Shiroi's insistent touch or his insidious words... Or both?

A guilty thrill went through him. Because the words Shiroi had used had been about him - about Yohji. About something Aya longed for. And given how adroitly Shiroi had managed to get into his own head, Yohji had to wonder just how much truth there had been in what Shiroi had taunted Aya about.

 _Did_ Aya want him?

The idea tormented him, because he already felt as if he'd lusted in secret for the redhead forever. Ever since that moonless night nearly three years ago when he bound the other man in wire for Birman's recruiting, at least. Long before he had even known his name.

He remembered the heat he had sensed in the deadly flash of the stranger's eyes, the furious struggle against the inevitability of the wire. He had gazed, entranced, on that deep red hair illuminated by a distant streetlight, on the lean body that had moved with fluid, deadly grace before he trapped it like a moth in a spider's web, on the face graven like a medieval angel's, stern and remote and yet filled with righteous fury for their interference in his vengeance.

The intensity of his response to this vision had been like nothing he'd ever known before. Hot. Urgent. Distracting. He'd almost missed Birman's order to release the redhead, so reluctant had he been to do so. Only Ken's punch in the arm had clued him in and Weiß had left the stranger crouching in shadow alone to contemplate Birman's harsh ultimatum: join Weiß or become their target.

Yohji had long known he was uncomfortably bisexual. It was just one more reason to so vocally disdain men aside from his self-imposed role as woman's protector. And while he'd had urges to bed men before - had even acted on one or two despite his unease over his orientation - none had been so strong as that instant draw he had felt for that red-haired stranger trapped in his wire. Attraction. Chemistry. Lust. He had hesitated then to name it, knowing only that it was something raw and primal and hungry. Borderline obsession. But what had alarmed him most, later when he was honest with himself in the depth of the night, was that not even Asuka had stirred feelings like the ones fanned to life inside him in that breathless moment when every instant of this beautiful stranger's mental struggle had been felt through the wire as if through his own nerves, heady and exotic.

The wire could be intimate, when he used it that way. Like a temporary connection to the mind of his captives, letting him, much like a fisherman, respond deftly to the actions of his prey.

Yet as many as had died on his wire, for some reason Aya's conflict had sung through it to him that night, calling to him seductively, making him long to possess the other man. He had sensed every minute change in his captive's emotions as Birman talked to him. He hadn't heard a word of their conversation, but had instead felt it as first outrage, then bitter comprehension and helpless shock swept through that proud body. Had felt the exquisite instant of surrender vibrate through the wires and into his own flesh when Aya joined Weiß in spirit if not yet in word; felt the instant that entrancing fire was bound to a new purpose and buried beneath icy control. He had felt connected to him ever since, body aching to possess the other man's, wanting to free that leashed, secret passion himself. Someday. Somehow. But he had held little hope.

Aya had sealed his fire away too thoroughly in that moment. It was an Ice Prince who appeared at the Koneko to join Weiß, dispassionate and focused and daunting.

As many women as Yohji had dated and brought around the shop and house into Aya's range, he'd never seen the other man show anything other than an icily polite interest in any of them - or in any female aside from his sister. Even Sakura had turned out to be just a poor replacement for the then-comatose girl. Yet he'd never seen Aya show interest in or even awareness of any male either - unless their name was Takatori. His passion had seemed to have been subsumed utterly into his thirst for revenge. But for nearly a year now Takatori had been gone and even his sister had finally been awakened and was safe. Yet for Aya nothing seemed to have changed. If anything, the ice had thickened, burying the fire further, as the brutal mission with General Powell had proved. The punch in the face Aya had given him to convince Powell they had fallen for his lies delivered through Manx had held nothing back.

He remembered crouching on the floor of the trailer in that instant, wiping blood away from his throbbing mouth and looking up at Aya from beneath his disheveled bangs, promising revenge with his gaze even as he spoke words of acceptance for their observer's benefit. Watching Aya closely, he had sworn he had seen a flare of answering heat beneath the ice in the violet eyes; it had only fanned his secret desire.

Yet that had been weeks ago. Weeks of watching Aya ignore him after that hellacious mission ended. Weeks of dangerous frustration that led him to use any flimsy excuse to touch or brush against the other man, hoping to annoy him into heated reaction again. But nothing worked. Aya glared coldly. Aya snarled. But there was no violence again. No heat. Which meant, for Yohji, weeks of fucking anyone he could pick up - even finally a man, once - in an effort to purge himself of what seemed to be a futile obsession. But the raw, re-awakened yearning had yet to fade, no matter how debauched he became, and he hated himself for being unable to stop wanting Aya even after all this time. He never would learn, would he? It could never be what he wanted. He'd lectured himself time and time again that Aya wasn't interested in anyone at all... much less him. And both of them were laden with too much bitterness, too much guilt, too much regret, he told himself, to find any kind of true connection beyond the enforced intimacy of Weiß and so he had once more tried to bury his lust deep.

Now there was this mission... their capture - soon to be followed by their lingering deaths, no doubt. But in spite of the peril, when he had first seen Aya bound in Shiroi's playroom, artfully displayed and hanging so still in his bonds as if submitting to fate completely - exactly like that instant so long ago - Yohji had felt a terrible sense of satisfaction fill him. It had lingered there despite everything he'd tried to do to stifle it, stirring beneath the drive to escape, fueling the reckless disregard for his own safety that had prompted him to mouth back to Shiroi.

Somehow Shiroi had seen and understood Yohji's secret longings, his guilty fantasies. But the taunts the doctor made to Aya had hinted at something else... something about Aya's own desires. He scarcely dared remember Shiroi's words, afraid they were only another cruel deception, a taunt aimed at him and not Aya. Yet Aya had come after that... hard, arching in denial... but releasing at last. Yohji's breath came short again, his body stirring as reckless implications percolated through the depths of his mind.

Just what had Shiroi done to Aya before he was brought in to the playroom too? How long had he questioned him before drugging him? And why the elaborate display? Who's benefit had it really been for...?

Yohji started and his thoughts scattered as he heard the door hiss softly open at last. He lifted his head to stare at the curtain that concealed it from immediate view, carefully blanking his expression and trying hard to stifle his awareness of Aya lying so vulnerably beyond, not wanting to give Shiroi any more weapons to use against them if he could help it. There was a quiet rattling sound beyond the curtain, a shuffling of feet, then after a moment a woman emerged from behind it pushing a small cart laden with various medical items. He tried to ignore the vaguely humiliating wave of relief he felt that it wasn't Shiroi - yet.

The woman who entered was older, grim-faced and dressed as a nurse. Maybe they had actually been transported to a real hospital of some kind, Yohji thought even as he forced himself to smile at her, flashing all the charm he could muster. She rebuffed his best effort with a flat stare, clearly unimpressed and not disconcerted at all by the fact that there were two mostly naked men tied up here. The wheels of the cart squeaked when she turned it further into the room, and Aya jerked awake on the other bed, arching up violently against his bonds. The woman ignored him other than a quick glance to make certain he was secure as she guided the cart into the gap between their beds.

"It's okay," Yohji called to him quietly. "It's a nurse." Aya subsided into wary stillness at his reassurance, but his body remained tense, muscles flexing.

Then the 'nurse' reached into a box on the cart and pulled out a large black handgun. She pointedly and competently released the safety and Yohji cursed under his breath, gaze flashing to her unsmiling face as she walked over and pressed the mouth of the pistol against his temple, her finger dauntingly steady on the trigger. She dropped a plastic urinal in his lap with the other hand, then, after a level stare, deftly unbuckled the restraint on the wrist closest to her.

Well, that was certainly clear, he thought, blanching slightly. After another quick glance at the woman's impassive face, Yohji unzipped his pants and took fumbling, one-handed advantage of the opportunity to relieve himself. He briefly considered flinging the contents at her when he was done but the distinct narrowing of her eyes stopped him. That and the pistol that pressed briefly harder to his head. Not an original idea, that one - apparently.

Without bothering to zip up, Yohji held the urinal up for her with a flourish and a grin, even going so far as to wink saucily at her. She frowned forbiddingly at him for a moment, then finally took the jug, reaching across herself to set it on the table beside the bed.

And his chance appeared.

In the fraction of a second while her attention was divided, he snaked his hand up with the speed that so often shocked his opponents and caught her wrist, driving it up and forcing the gun away from his head in one swift motion.

The angry astonishment on her face was almost comical. Apparently Shiroi's victims were usually far more docile by this time. The urinal fell to the floor beside them in a loud clatter, the pungent scent filling the room even as the gun went off above him. He slammed her wrist down brutally hard on the bar of the bed beside him before she could get off another shot. She cried out, a sharp sound of pain, and the pistol tumbled dangerously free into his lap. But she kept her head despite the pain; her other hand was already clawing desperately after the weapon. Snarling, he yanked her arm across his body, sprawling her onto the bed, aided unexpectedly when her scrambling feet slipped in the piss on the floor. He grinned wolfishly. Letting her wrist go, he chopped the side of his hand down hard on her neck, right beneath the ear, and had the satisfaction of feeling her go limp atop him.

Panting hard, blood thundering in his ears, he scrambled to free first his other hand and then his chest of the confining straps. He rolled the unconscious woman off his legs and the bed without another thought, her body crashing to the floor beside him. The gun slid reassuringly into his hand as he darted a wary look toward the door. Wondering if there was anyone outside to hear the shot. Wondering if the room was monitored or not after all. No one had burst through the door yet, but all this had taken just a few seconds. He needed to keep moving, or the advantage of surprise would be lost.

Yohji clawed his ankles free, then sprang off the bed. Cursed when he too slipped to one knee in the puddle of his own urine, then staggered upright and over to Aya's bedside. The other man was lying unnaturally still, poised and listening. Probably wondering what the hell had just happened.

"It's me," Yohji said reassuringly as he put his hand briefly on Aya's shoulder. "Got the drop on her." He moved his hand down to the chest strap, fingers brushing accidentally across a pale nipple peaked by exposure. His hand fumbled on the buckle as a shock of something - adrenaline; that was all it could be - flowed through him.

"Let's go, Aya," he muttered, taking a precious second to steady his shaking hand before reaching for the wrist restraints. There was no time for these reactions now, he savagely berated his libido, and some measure of control restored, he had both of the other man's hands free within moments; noting with a frown in passing the raw, nearly bloody state of Aya's wrists beneath. He'd fought hard. Aya's hands fell immediately to his own head, tearing shakily at the blindfold, so Yohji moved down to deal with the ankle restraints, forcing himself to keep one eye on the doorway. Hours of staring at Aya's nude body aside, he had to focus on getting them both out of there alive now.

Once he had Aya's legs freed, Yohji darted around the bed and threw aside the curtain to reach the door, plastering himself to the wall beside it, listening intently for any sounds approaching from outside. He heard nothing, frowning darkly at the lack. Far too easy so far. He took a quick moment to tuck himself back inside his pants and zip up, gaze rising to check on Aya.

The swordsman was still on the bed, but sitting up at least, the blindfold already gone. Unsteady fingers were tearing at the gag now. He could see a definite wildness in the violet eyes - they were dilated and watering, blinking furiously against the light. Shit. Aya would take a minute or two to adjust, most likely. Plus he was stark naked and weaponless.

Swallowing hard and realizing there wasn't anything he could do about those two issues right away, Yohji turned his attention back to the door and pulled it open slightly the better to listen, gun at the ready in case there was someone just outside. But there was no one and nothing. He dared open it wide enough then to glance out. Saw an empty corridor that stretched for about half a dozen meters in either direction, more doors opening off it on both sides. It looked far more basement-like out there than hospital-like. Maybe they were still in the same building after all, he speculated. That would help; if they could make it to familiar parts of the complex they could follow one of the alternate escape routes they'd worked out for the mission. He frowned and scanned the hall quickly again. There was an elevator door at one end and a stairwell at the other marked with a glowing green exit sign. Speed or mobility? It was no contest, really.

"Aya?" he called softly back into the room, not taking his attention away from the hall. He heard a heavy thud, followed by a rattling behind him and glanced back in alarm to see the swordsman leaning heavily on the nurse's cart. He had apparently stumbled when he climbed off the bed, catching himself on it. In between cautious glances down the hall, Yohji watched Aya paw clumsily through the cart. After a moment of searching, the grim-faced redhead found a cloth hospital gown. Not bothering to put it on properly, Aya simply tied the thin fabric around his hips before he stumbled over toward the glass-front cabinet by the sink at the back of the room. He stepped over the nurse's body without more than a quick glance down to make certain she was still unconscious.

"What are you doing?" Yohji hissed.

"Weapon," the other man said, his voice a hoarse rasp as he reached for the cabinet door.

"The hall's empty... no alarm... Let's go," he called urgently. Aya's head swiveled around, and the other man fixed him with a wild, tormented stare. Fighting back a spurt of answering anxiety, Yohji lifted his hand, waggling the gun significantly as he held his gaze. "This'll have to do. C'mon."

He could see something raw and hot and wounded lurking in those violet depths. Not something he was used to seeing in Aya's eyes. The other man had red lines on his face from both the blindfold and the gag. The trickle of dried blood from where he'd bitten himself earlier still marked his chin. He was haggard and unsteady looking, still suffering aftereffects of the drug Shiroi had given him. Or maybe it was just the aftereffects of what had happened earlier... As the memory flashed through Yohji's mind, Aya's lids flickered down, breaking the brief lock.

But Aya came toward him then, moving without any of his usual grace, a hand braced against the wall to support himself as he walked, eyes now doubly hidden behind the fall of ragged bangs.

"You okay?" Yohji asked him, the words reflex. Stupid and useless. He knew Aya wasn't okay. He was pretty far from okay himself right then too, acting on desperate instinct and training. Of course, Aya didn't answer. The lean form simply stopped beside him, the now impassive face averted.

"Let's go."

The words were cold and distant, deflecting his concern. No, now was definitely not the time to talk. Now was the time to get as fucking far away from Shiroi as fast as they could. Yohji nodded and pulled the door wide. He stepped out into the hall, sharply aware of Aya as a silent presence behind him, and tried to be ready for anything.

~*~*~*~*~

The stairs turned out to be a potential trap, but one he spotted as soon as he passed through the door.

"Shit! They're key-coded from the inside!" He caught the heavy door before it could close behind them, reaching across Aya to do so. The redhead flinched away from his encroaching arm even as Yohji pointed at the pad installed beside the door with the gun in his other hand.

"Do you remember any codes for the mission?" Yohji asked, mostly ignoring Aya's flinch, turning his frown toward the door instead.

"Yes."

"Might not be the same building - "

Icy violet eyes fixed on him from beneath ragged bangs, silencing him. "Then you can shoot out the lock." Aya ducked beneath his arm, a sleek shoulder brushing against Yohji's own bare chest as he did so. Yohji shivered, torn between annoyance and a kind of giddy satisfaction as he stared after him. Aya was already starting up the stairs, moving awkwardly, with a heaviness and deliberation to his movements that was starting to worry him. With a curse for stubborn independent bastards muttered under his breath, Yohji let the door swing closed behind him before he followed that unsteady form up the steps. The door locked with an audible click, sealing them in. Now the only way they could go was up. He followed Aya.

After climbing just one flight, it was clear Aya was still suffering badly from the effects of the drugs Shiroi had given him. He kept clutching the railing to steady himself, mouth held in a grim line, and placing his feet on each step with exaggerated care, almost as if he thought they might move out from under him. Mentally Yohji cursed Shiroi as he watched the other struggle through it, back stiff with pride and determination. He knew Aya wouldn't be much use in a fight in this condition - but at least he didn't have to carry him. Despite the precariousness of their freedom and the danger of imminent discovery of their escape, a surge of heat swept through him at the very idea of holding Aya in his arms. And Yohji couldn't stay behind the other man for an instant longer. Not with the way muscular thighs and lean hips shifted under the makeshift sarong made only from a thin patient's robe as Aya climbed the stairs ahead of him. The covering didn't leave much to Yohji's imagination - not when he'd already had plenty of time to memorize what lay beneath it in the hours before.

With an inward groan, Yohji brushed past Aya, taking the steps two at a time, bare feet slapping loudly on the concrete steps. "I've got the gun - I'll scout ahead." Any concern he expressed would likely be smacked down just as hard as he would be if Aya caught a glimpse of the lust in his eyes, he knew. There were no convenient women around to pawn his interest off on here; no way to convince Aya the wanting could be for anyone other than him.

He kept a half a flight between them, not wanting to get too far away from Aya, but listening for signs of discovery. They climbed four more flights until the sign beside the door said 'B1'. Logically, the next level should be ground level, but then Yohji didn't remember the building plans they'd reviewed for the mission showing so many basement levels either. When he reached the landing, he waited for Aya to catch up to him.

"What do you think?" he asked quietly, gesturing around. The sign by the door said 'B' alone and the stairs ended abruptly beyond it in what looked like a structural wall and not just a make-shift barrier. This door was heavier than the ones below too, but still fitted with a keypad. He'd already tried the handle and found it locked. "We still in the same building? I was out cold... do you remember being transported?"

After a quick look around the small space, Aya frowned and shook his head. "No, we weren't taken far - mostly by elevator. This has to be somewhere in the same..." He trailed off suddenly and half fell back against the wall beside the keypad, head tilting back to thump against the wall, eyes clamping closed. He wasn't breathing overly hard, but there was a haggard air about him and a tremble in his limbs that made it look as if he might need to lean against that wall to keep from slipping to the ground. It wasn't like Aya, who he had seen press on with missions before despite major wounds.

Worried, Yohji tried to clear his throat of an odd tightness by swallowing hard. "Think the same codes will work then?"

Aya didn't respond, taking slow, deep breaths instead. The skin around his closed eyes was so shadowed it appeared bruised. He looked drained. Concern flared higher, and Yohji couldn't seem to stop the hand that reached out toward the redhead He managed to divert it at the last second, bracing it against the wall beside Aya's shoulder instead of touching the other man. There was no reaction to his approach, not even a flinch Then he pressed his luck by leaning closer, staring down at Aya's weary face. Fascinated. Drawn. He knew that face so well, after all the months spent watching him on the sly, yet he still knew so little of the true man behind it. He found himself easing even closer. The draw was almost too much to resist now that a crack had been made in the wall of ice between them, letting him catch a glimpse of something he'd never actually considered possible before. Hope stirred, unfamiliar and hesitant.

"You're still fucked up." His voice came out low and caressing, not quite the businesslike tone he had intended. He was close enough that the exhalation of breath with his words stirred an eartail against the pale cheek.

"Hn," was all Aya said, opening one eye just enough to glare at him briefly for the utter obviousness of his observation before closing it again. Yohji felt as if they were suspended in an instant of infinite potential, his pulse surging faster suddenly as he stared down at the other man. Aya hadn't objected to his closeness, didn't try to shove him away, but instead let out a slow, shuddering breath, jaw bunching as he struggled to master his drug-impaired body. It didn't seem to work too well; he was still trembling heavily, hands splayed against the cold concrete behind him. Yohji frowned down at him, gaze tracking over the strained face, sorely tempted to reach out and scrub the thin line of dried blood off Aya's chin. He barely restrained himself.

"What the hell did that bastard give you?" he murmured, now fighting an urge to stroke the tumbled bangs back from those dark-circled eyes. Aware that he was searching for any thin excuse to touch what had been so long thought unobtainable. But the door of possibility had finally been opened...

Aya surprised him by actually answering after releasing another weary sound. "Partly a muscle relaxant, I think, with something to alter equilibrium." Aya's head rolled a little against the wall as he turned toward him, eyes still closed. It was a small move, almost unconscious, he thought, but the revelation burned through him suddenly that Aya trusted him. In his weakness he hadn't pushed him away - had actually turned toward him.

"Shit, you're dizzy too? Why didn't you tell me?" Aya's eyes snapped open at that and he finally did push away from him, now glaring fiercely. He should have known any implication of failure would prompt this kind of reaction. Aya's escape was ruined, however, when his uncooperative body stumbled and he fell against Yohji's instead. Skin to skin, heat spread instantly between them as Yohji caught him and steadied him against his chest. He could feel the little tremors in Aya's muscles as he half-slumped against him for one breathless moment.

"I can stand," Aya ground out, finding his balance again.

"Barely," Yohji snapped back, staring down into wary violet eyes that swiftly went shuttered and icy. "You can't fight, that's for sure."

"Let go of me, Kudoh," Aya snarled, shoving at Yohji's shoulder as he tried to twist away again, a move that should have been graceful and smooth but instead sent him stumbling heavily against the wall when Yohji released him without a struggle. He glared at Yohji from under sweat-spiked hair for a moment as if accusing him of malice. Yohji met the look as impassively as he was able, hoping that Aya wouldn't look down. His body had reacted to the touch of Aya's in a rather alarming and immediate way. He was as hard as a rock and glad he had pants to partially hide it at least. Tension snapped in the air between them.

Aya, however, seemed content to just glare into his face, the look growing slowly more poisonous before he turned to the keypad beside him, pointedly snubbing him. "I'll manage," he said at last. "You didn't kill that woman; she could raise the alarm any time now." Bracing a forearm against the wall, he raised a visibly trembling hand to the pad, clearly trying to get it under control before he attempted to enter a code. When his hand just continued to waver, fingers swaying above the keys, he clenched it into a fist and rammed it into the wall beside the door in frustration. Blood flew as knuckles split on concrete.

"Aya! Shit!"

Yohji stepped up to him and caught his arm before he could do it again, dragging the clumsily resisting man away from the wall and the keypad.

"Shit! Just relax! It'll wear off eventually, Aya... oh hell!"

Aya was snarling again as he swung at him with the other arm. Yohji dodged it by yanking the shorter man against him roughly by his upper arms, drawing him between braced legs. There were some advantages to height, after all. Aya's head tilted back and violet eyes chill with frustrated anger snapped up to meet his own too-wide gaze.

Then Aya went still and Yohji forgot to breathe in a moment of shocking clarity.

There was no hiding his arousal now. Blood throbbed wildly in Yohji's throat, roared in his ears, pulsed in his groin. He let one arm slide down and locked it around Aya's waist, drawing them closer together without further thought. He was lost in the warmth of Aya's bare skin against his; sensation ripped through him like electric current in a moment charged with lust, anxiety and the anticipation of violence.

"No," Aya said, mouth grim, face gone hard. Yohji felt his lips twist up at one corner in what couldn't be a pretty smile. Something dark and hungry was moving behind his own narrowing gaze now. He could feel it. Along with the need clawing at his throat.

"Oh yes," he countered before leaning down enough to cover Aya's lips with his own. They were surprisingly warm. Soft. And for a fleeting instant they stayed that way, heady and yielding. Then sharp teeth snapped shut just catching the inside of his lip, drawing blood. He jerked back, hissing, tongue swiping out automatically to catch the blood as Aya glared savagely at him.

"What did Shiroi give _you_?" Aya snarled, struggling awkwardly to break his hold but too uncoordinated to succeed immediately. Long-denied desire surged through Yohji wiping out all other concerns. He was holding Aya at last. Yohji shoved him back, roughly pressing Aya's shoulders into the wall, looming over him as he rolled his hips up against Aya's. No restraint now. Thigh slid against thigh in blissful friction. He bit back a small groan and buried his face against the side of Aya's head, breathing in the other man's scent tinged with traces of sweat and blood and leather.

"Nothing... a sedative..." he said against pale flesh. "Aya... I lied before... about not wanting you..."

Aya stilled at his words, going wire-tense. He ran a hand down Aya's side, brushing it against the thin fabric wrapped around his waist. It wouldn't take much to strip it away, he thought, mind hazy with anticipation and need, remembered images a torment. Aya strained away from him, trying to twist out of his hold but only succeeded in pressing their thighs tighter, one of Aya's slipping between his own. His cock felt like a hot iron bar pressed between them, throbbing and urgent, while Aya's was only half hard. It was a minor concern, lost in the moment as he rocked his hips against Aya's again and again, savoring the feel of him. He turned his face further into Aya's neck under the silky eartail, opened his mouth over the soft skin beneath his ear and sucked on it gently. Aya arched away, hands clutching, trying to wedge between them. Yohji persisted, humming against the pale flesh, feeling shivers wrack the body in his arms.

"There's no time for this," Aya spat, hoarse and furious.

"You're right," Yohji said as he reluctantly drew back only a few inches, need a demon on his shoulder urging him on despite the deadly fury in Aya's eyes, the precariousness of their freedom. His own hot gaze flickered between Aya's mouth and his eyes. "But let me kiss you once... properly... then give me the code and I'll enter it."

Violet eyes narrowed, answering heat flaring in their depths at last. A breathless few seconds passed, then, to his shock Aya reached up and grabbed his head with both hands, clenching his fingers painfully in the long strands of hair at the base of his neck.

"Then make sure to get it right, fool," Aya said before surging up to meet him, pulling Yohji's head down at the same time. Mouth met mouth in an explosion of searing fire. Hot, open, avid. Tongues tangling in wet heat, lips sliding over lips, first hard then soft, accented with the dangerous brush of teeth, the tang of his own blood. Yohji groaned as he sank down into the embrace, tasting everything Aya for endless, intoxicating moments.

When they finally broke apart he stared into Aya's eyes, drinking in the dangerous fire that flared there beneath heavy lids. The other man turned his head away after that one long instant, hands sliding out of Yohji's hair to fall down limp at his sides as if all his strength had drained away.

Yohji leaned back toward his mouth eagerly, but stopped when Aya rattled off a string of numbers, his eyes sliding closed wearily.

Yohji blinked at him stupidly through a haze of lust. "What's that?"

"The stairwell security code."

"Fuck that..." Yohji snarled, diving down to catch Aya's mouth again. But the other man was having none of it now, wrenching his face away so that Yohji's lips caught his jaw instead, an arm wedged firmly between their bodies to keep him off.

"We have to go - _now_."

Somehow reason prevailed over his hormones. He knew Aya was right. This was not the time, despite the fire running through his veins, but it was likely only the fact that Aya had initiated the kiss that convinced him to control himself now. Hope was a heady thing. Yohji stepped back, running a steadying hand through his hair as he mentally cursed his own weakness for the other man.

"Give me that code again," he muttered. After shooting him a dark glare, Aya repeated the string of numbers. Yohji entered them into the keypad carefully. They both seemed to hold their breath, waiting for the result.

To their mutual relief, the door lock clicked free. Yohji opened the door just enough to keep it from locking itself again, looking over his shoulder at Aya. The violet gaze met his warily.

"Too easy," he said.

Aya nodded once, frowned in agreement. "Not like we have other options."

"No," Yohji said grimly, raising the gun and releasing the safety on the automatic with his thumb. Then Yohji eased the door open, peering cautiously beyond.

The heavy door from the stairs led into a small room that looked like a utility closet of some kind. Fortunately, there were no guards. They could see another door on the far side that didn't seem to have a keypad connected to it. Piled on one side were boxes, on the other, a collection of cleaning equipment, including a heavy-duty metal-handled push broom. Aya's eyes narrowed at the sight of it. He moved over to the broom, picked it up and unscrewed the broom-head from the handle, then he gave the handle an experimental swing, testing both it and himself. He didn't fall over, but it was close. But armed again, he seemed a little steadier, if definitely not up to full speed. Yohji shot him a wary glance as he crossed to the far door. After a moment, Aya moved over to join him, giving him a look out of the corner of his eyes.

"Using that code may have triggered an alarm somewhere," Aya observed grimly. Yohji nodded, his hand already on the other doorknob. Aya held the broom handle ahead of him in both hands, like a bizarre sword.

"Then we need to hurry. Ready?" Aya nodded and Yohji pulled the door open. Beyond the closet door was one of the basement levels that he thought he recognized from mission reconnaissance. Aya sidled out beside him, both of them looking opposite directions down the hall. Clear. For the moment.

"Is this the west side?" Yohji hissed at his partner. Aya just frowned, shaking his head to indicate he was unsure. "I think it is," Yohji went on, frowning down the hallway. "The stairs should be around this corner. Two levels up, then we're at ground floor again."

"Hn."

"You okay?"

"Stop asking that. Let's go."

Yohji had taken only a few steps forward, Aya on his heels, when a bulky man in a dark suit came around the corner ahead of them. Yohji spotted the gun in the thug's hand even as he snapped up his own gun and fired at the man. The sound of the shot was loud in the hall, as was the crash as the body hit the floor. They saw the flash of a second man whipping out of sight back around the corner, heard shouts of alarm echo down the hallway from more men on the way.

"Damn it!" Yohji snarled, spinning around and catching Aya's arm, yanking him along with him back the other way. The redhead stumbled beside him, still nowhere near as agile as usual and stuck with a close-quarter weapon against guns. Yohji scanned ahead desperately. There wasn't any cover in the empty hall and it was suicide to go back in the way they'd come up - they'd be trapped for sure. But there wasn't an alcove or another bend in the hall for at least ten meters - too far if the hired guns got their courage back.

"Run!" He shoved Aya ahead of him then spun back around, sending another bullet toward the bend in the hall to keep the thugs at bay for a few precious moments longer.

Aya ran. He could just hear the pounding of his bare feet on the floor above the shouts of their pursuers. Yohji ducked into the utility closet doorway, using it as scant cover as he watched the far end of the hall, covering Aya's escape. A head poked out low around that far corner, trying to place them and he fired at it, having expected something like that. The head jerked back. Angry shouts and vile curses rewarded him, but he didn't think he'd hit the second man. Too bad.

"Balinese!"

Yohji risked a look back over his shoulder, gun still leveled on the corner where the dead man lay. Aya had made it to the far end of the hall, and was leaning heavily against the wall, chest heaving as he glared back at him.

Yohji frowned, alarmed at Aya's hesitation. "What are you waiting for? Get the fuck out of here!"

"We..."

" _Go!_ "

Their gazes met across the length of the hall and Yohji thought for one pulsing, fearful moment that Aya was going to come back down the hall again. But then the red head bowed, bangs covering glittering eyes as lean shoulders rounded in anger or frustration.

"Don't die yet," Aya spat at him. Then he vanished around the corner to safety.

Yohji jerked his attention back toward their pursuers, a bitter smile curving his lips even as a sick feeling settled in his stomach. That wasn't something he thought he could promise. Not here, not now. But at least he could give Aya a better chance to get away.

"Well, I'll miss you too, Aya," he muttered wryly under his breath, sinking to one knee to present a smaller target in the doorway and trying not to regret waiting this long to finally kiss the redhead. The door was cold against his bare back as he braced himself against it, watching for any sign of excess bravery from the men around the corner. He could hear a hushed argument and what sounded like orders being responded to over some kind of communications device. The guy he'd shot must have been dead, since they had made no attempt to retrieve the body and had just left it lying there on the floor in a spreading puddle of blood. Their mistake. That much blood on the floor would make for poor footing when they finally did charge him.

But it was one more to his kill list. Yohji smirked darkly to himself as he risked a quick look around the doorframe again. He was not in a good defensive position, he knew, but there weren't any better options available. If he tried to make a break for the far end of the hall, they'd hear him and gun him down. If he stayed, they'd run him out of ammo eventually - he had at least eleven bullets left in this kind of clip, maybe twelve if the nurse had been the type to keep a round in the chamber as well. He was a decent shot; he could probably take out quite a few of them before they finally got him. But then it would be blaze of glory time...

"Hey, punk!" a gruff voice called to him. "You got nowhere to go! Give it up!"

Talk? After he'd killed one of them? That was interesting. He laughed quietly to himself.

"Shiroi-sensei must still want me alive, huh?" Yohji called back, head tilting back against the door as he kept a sharp watch on the far corner. "That's comforting to know." They might try something if they thought he was distracted by the conversation.

"Accidents happen, you know," the gruff voice answered, menace clear. "The boss understands."

"How compassionate of him," Yohji snorted, keeping a sharp eye out. And sure enough, two hands holding guns whipped around the corner, both firing several shots blindly down the hall at him. He ducked back behind the doorframe, leaving just his own gun hand around the corner, and returned two shots spaced a few seconds apart just to discourage anyone from trying to make a break under the covering fire.

Nine bullets left. Or ten. His blood was pounding loudly in his ears as he listened intently for sounds of advance. There was none yet.

"Hey, this is fun. You guys bored yet? 'Cause I'm not," he called, forcing a sarcastic note into his voice. More gunfire answered his taunt and he ducked further behind the doorframe as bullets ricocheted wildly down the hall outside. Sounded like three guns now. And they were being extravagant with their shots. But they could afford to be, he thought grimly - unlike him, they no doubt had spare clips handy.

He grit his teeth, hunkering down to make as small a target for a bad bounce as possible, ears ringing from the seemingly unending barrage. Then, somewhere under the noise and the adrenaline, he suddenly remembered the stairwell behind him - and the elevator below.

Cursing himself for being suckered so easily, he spun around on his heel, gun turning to bear even as two men burst through the stairwell door behind him on the far side of the room. One was armed with a tranq gun. He fired even as he felt the sharp impact of a dart in his thigh. Had the brief satisfaction of seeing one go down even as the tunnel-vision effect seized him and Yohji fell forward onto the hard floor and into darkness once more.

~*~*~*~*~

Pain dragged him out of the embrace of darkness at last. Pain radiating in fiery bands down his shoulders and neck and back. With that unwelcome inducement, he slowly became aware of his surroundings again. He was kneeling on a cold floor, head hanging on his chest, his hands raised above him and shackled to something that swung slightly with every minor movement, his upper body suspended from that awkward support. Blindingly bright light spilled through even closed eyelids, sending stabbing pain into his brain.

Crap, he thought blearily. Now this was a familiar position. Only last time, Aya had been the one trussed up like this. Thinking of the redhead made him jerk in his bonds. The chain above him rattled, pain rolling through him as the slight sway put more pressure on his arms and shoulders. His hands tingled from lack of blood. He'd been like this a while, then. Groggily he tried to pull himself up, wanting only to ease the strain on his aching shoulders. They didn't like holding up all his body weight. He was just lucky he was on his knees. If he'd been suspended fully, they'd most likely be dislocated by now. To his surprise he managed to lift himself up a bit, easing the pain fractionally, and he was suddenly grateful that for some reason he hadn't been given a dose of the same paralytic agent that Aya had been. He could move of his own volition, at least, if only in small ways so far. Standing might be another matter entirely. He might stagger as badly as Aya then...

Aya. Worry gnawed at him. Aya had been in iffy shape when they parted, still unsteady and armed only with a metal broom handle. Shiroi's men had seemed to concentrate on re-capturing him, as he'd intended, but it hadn't taken them very long; there was no telling how far away Aya had been able to get on that slim lead. Yohji could only hope it had been long enough. If Aya hadn't still been suffering from the drugs Shiroi had given him, Yohji would have cheerfully bet on a broom-stick wielding Aya winning out over Shiroi's thugs. Even without his sword Aya was deadly. But his reaction to the drugs had left him barely stable.

Releasing little involuntary grunts of pain, he shifted on his knees, bracing them under him in an effort to support his body better. It helped, easing some of the fiery strain. He slowly lifted his head, rolling it against his raised arm, eyelids still firmly closed against the relentless glare from above. The long hair around his face provided his eyes some protection, but the light that leaked through his lids still made his head throb.

"Ah, my lovely Balinese, so you are awake at last," a disagreeably familiar voice said from the surrounding glare. Shiroi. Close. And above his head Yohji slowly fisted hands that felt as if they'd been coated in wax, rendering them stiff and unresponsive. "You have caused a great deal of trouble for me. Too much, perhaps."

"Guess I'm just contrary that way," he managed to croak, voice hoarse, throat dry. "Part of my charm, ne?" Soft laughter greeted his attempt at bravado. He dimly sensed a presence moving nearby, then a hand stroked through his tumbled hair making him flinch back, head jerking aside against his upraised arms to avoid the contact. Shiroi's hand followed his motion, threading in his hair before tightening painfully. He held still against the warning tug, eyes watering slightly as his head was tilted back and his face exposed to the intense light.

"You are quite clever, my friend. And skillful. It is seldom Mako is taken so unaware." There was amused respect in Shiroi's voice, though Yohji wasn't quite certain what he was talking about. A single finger traced across his cheek, pausing at the corner of his mouth. "Is there perhaps something I could offer you that would induce you to work for me of your own free will?"

"I suppose that depends on what kind of work you mean," Yohji said, letting his lips curve in a small, tight smile and firmly stifled a tremor of distaste as Shiroi ran his finger gently over his lower lip. "I can be... flexible, if the price is right." There was a moment of hushed silence as Shiroi no doubt examined his expression carefully.

"Ah, but you are simply humoring me. A pity." The doctor let out a soft sigh. "No matter what promise I extracted from you, you would certainly attempt to kill me at your first opportunity. Such loyalty. It still surprises me. I wonder if Kritiker truly deserves such devotion from you, my friend."

As if he would risk this much for Kritiker. It was easier to keep the cynical disgust out of his expression with his eyes closed like this even though he felt hampered and unbalanced this way. Blinded. But protecting Weiß was his concern, and where his real loyalty lay; not with Kritiker, but with Omi and Ken... and with Aya. They were far more important than the faceless, conscienceless puppeteers of his destiny. Yet how had Shiroi figured out his ploy so fast?

"I confess I am not surprised, but I am disappointed. But I expected no less from one of the men who brought down the Elders of Esset," Shiroi said, his voice dropping to a vicious hiss as he suddenly spat, "Where is Schwarz? _What did they do with the girl?_ "

Despite the light, Yohji's eyes flashed open for an instant in shock, then just as quickly screwed shut again, tearing painfully against the blinding glare. His suspicions had been confirmed - Shiroi was Esset. The doctor jerked his chin up, stretching his neck awkwardly as bony fingers bit hard into Yohji's chin making him swallow warily. This wasn't the Shiroi he was used to. The cool amusement and superior distance were gone. There was a manic passion in the doctor's question that made him distinctly uneasy.

"What are you talking about?" he managed to get out through his tight throat.

"The True Vessel. Where is she?"

"Did you check the harbor?" he gasped. Shiroi's free hand locked around his already extended throat, squeezing warningly. Shiroi was apparently not amused, Yohji noted as he choked for breath.

"No more games, Balinese of Weiß," Shiroi said as he abruptly eased his hold on Yohji's throat. He sucked in breath desperately, bitterly aware of the irony of Shiroi choking him. "I want the _girl_. I prepared her most carefully for their ritual, as they instructed and despite the fascinating things I saw in her genetic code... she should not live... those pairs were impossible... ah... but now that the Elders are gone and their ritual has failed... I want her back. I will find her... and then I will _know_..."

Aya-chan. Aya's _sister_ , Yohji thought through a haze of confusion. Shiroi wanted Aya's little sister. The girl Aya had become a killer to avenge. The girl he was still desperate to protect from the truth that her brother was an assassin... Fuck fuck and _fuck_ again.

He had to warn Aya. But had Shiroi re-captured Aya? He didn't think so or he'd be trussed up here beside him. But what if he was? He hadn't been able to see anything beyond the blinding light and the dim silhouette of Shiroi himself.

"I don't know anything about a girl," he gasped.

Pain exploded across his cheek as Shiroi slapped him, snapping his head around with a blow harder than he'd thought the man capable of, rocking his body against the chains as the doctor shouted wildly, "Do not lie to me! Weiß took her! Schwarz had to retrieve her!"

Shiroi was losing it, he noted with a kind of bleak satisfaction. He forced a laugh. "We're assassins - we don't do rescues."

A hand wound in his hair, bent his head back painfully, while hard fingers clamped around his face as if trying to force the words Shiroi wanted from his mouth. He could feel the hot wash of Shiroi's breath across his face, the pressure of the doctor's body against his as he crouched over him, tense and shaking with frustration

"I have drugs that will tear you apart from within," the doctor hissed, "nerve by nerve, synapse by synapse, until you beg me to end your life... you will tell me what I want to know, Balinese... one way or another..."

Shiroi was desperate. He had no one else to threaten. He wouldn't be this unhinged if his men had managed to kill Aya - he would have used that information to taunt Yohji already - so he must have escaped, then. Relief flooded him. Relief and resignation and gratitude.

It was all right then. He could die content. Aya was safe - beyond Shiroi's reach. He would have smiled if he could, face locked in Shiroi's brutal grasp. Maybe the doctor felt the muscles moving toward a smile or maybe his uncanny perception simply read the relief in him somehow, but Shiroi let out a shriek of outrage and drew back to backhand him once again.

Blood flew from his lip as his head whipped around. Almost instantly, a foot caught him in the ribs, sending the breath out of him. His body jerked against the chains painfully again and again as a series of kicks followed, brutal and wild. He endured them, the pain filling him but not reaching the core of him. Aya was safe. He held on to the idea like a charm. It just didn't matter what happened to him anymore...

He would have slipped away into darkness then, content, satisfied, but the beating abruptly stopped. He could hear Shiroi's ragged breathing from somewhere beyond, over the sickening thud of his own pulse. His ribs and gut and arms ached, his mind spun somewhere in a shadowy realm between agony and nothingness. There was blood in his mouth. A long moment of nothing passed and he wondered when the real torture was going to begin.

"You are not afraid to die," Shiroi finally said, voice low, stunned. "How...?"

"Just... get it... over with... you... freak," Yohji gasped, lifting his head enough to spit out some of the blood, coughing painfully as he dared to crack his eyes open against the glare. As long as he kept his face down the light didn't stab quite so cruelly into his brain. He could see Shiroi's legs in front of him, the white pants and shoes bright in the glare, the splash of blood on the cracked floor vivid between them where he'd spit it, his own knees dark smears in his navy pants.

Shiroi crouched down in front of him. A hand caught his chin, lifted his face higher. He glanced at him sidelong beneath his bangs, eyes still tearing slightly from the glare. The doctor's pale face was flushed with exertion, his searching gaze behind the gray lenses filled with angry frustration, with disgust. Yohji knew there was a smile on his face; could feel it in the pain of his split lip, the ache of his bruised jaw.

"You fool," Shiroi breathed. "Love will destroy you and you're _happy_..."

"It... already did," Yohji rasped, heart lurching to hear the contented feeling filling him given a name. But he didn't deny it. Couldn't. "I've been... dead for years... you're just doing me a favor..." And if his own death would keep Aya and the one he had protected so fiercely safe, then so be it.

Shiroi's glare bored into him, the red eyes narrowing thoughtfully behind their protective lenses and Yohji felt a lurch of unease as some of Shiroi's control returned. "That's where you are mistaken, my friend. If you love... then can hope not be far behind? And hope I can break... turn to my advantage..."

The hand on his chin softened, a thumb stroked across his sore flesh gently as the doctor's gaze filled with a kind of manic light. Yohji shuddered, wondering how the hell Shiroi had figured it out so easily. It was as if he had some way of looking right into his head... into his heart... into places even he found no easy access to...

His eyes widened in shock. There was one other he knew of who had that kind of skill... Mastermind of Schwarz... but Shiroi hadn't reacted to his thoughts directly, just his emotions. Could there be a kind of power that read only the emotions of others? he wondered frantically.

"What are you?" he gasped. Shiroi smiled gently, his former amused control now firmly in place again, the edgy hysteria of before only a hazy memory.

"A freak, as you said, my lovely one." The hand on his face skimmed up his cheek, brushed the tender bruise under his eye. "I damaged your face. Such a pity. I must apologize for my brutality."

Yohji heard the distant door open. Shiroi obviously heard it too, straightening up and turning away impatiently. He looked over his shoulder toward darkness until one of his dark-suited mercenaries walked to the edge of the cone of light.

"Boss, sorry for the interruption," the man said, bowing slightly, his face like granite but with a trace of anxiety marring his flat gaze. Professional, but not impervious, apparently. And wary of Shiroi.

"What is it?" Shiroi said, a hint of irritation in his cool tone. The man's gaze flickered briefly to Yohji in his bonds and Shiroi stiffened. He gestured the man away with a sharp wave of his hand, then followed him into darkness. They stopped a few strides away and began to speak in low voices. Yohji could catch tone, but not words. His man was uneasy about something, while Shiroi was his usual composed self again, speaking quietly.

After a few minutes of discussion, Shiroi returned to the cone of light, staring at him thoughtfully, his arms folded across his chest. After a moment he heard the door open and close again behind the flunkey. He didn't hear the bar close, however. Which made sense if Shiroi was in here with him.

"It seems a pity to destroy such a one as you, but it is quickly becoming clear that I can ill afford the resources to explore your so very intriguing genetic traits fully," Shiroi said at last, a note of wistful regret in his voice that faded into steely firmness as he continued, "But I still require the True Vessel - you will tell me where she can be found."

"I have no idea," he answered with absolute truth. But of course Aya did. And Aya was beyond Shiroi's reach...

Shiroi's face convulsed with raw fury again and he took a step toward him just as Yohji heard the soft twang of a crossbow and a white-fletched bolt appeared in Shiroi's left shoulder, spinning him aside and out of the light with the force of the impact.

" _Balinese!_ "

Omi's voice. The chain above him loosened with a loud clatter, dropping his arms down abruptly in front of him and making him gray out briefly in relief as he sagged forward over his knees. He heard the sound of someone landing with a hard grunt behind him, then feet racing across the floor toward him.

"He's still alive!" he called out in warning as Ken dashed into the light, one arm bound tightly to his chest, bugnuks flashing on his free hand. His teammate disappeared in the direction Shiroi had fallen even as Yohji heard the sound of the main door opening again. "He's got men out there!" Yohji shouted, staring after Ken anxiously. There was a clash of switches and lights came up around the room in series, diffusing the effect of the spotlight. He blinked in relief, head rising. Ken was at the door already, doing something with it.

Metal rattled loudly behind him and he twisted around to see a slender, folding stairwell drop down from the network of catwalks that hung high on the walls of the room. Omi was at the top of it, his hands dancing over some kind of control panel beside it. The kid looked up, a brief smile lighting his face when he saw Yohji staring back at him. He gestured toward the stairwell urgently.

"Balinese, get out of the way and I'll unhook the chain. Siberian's blocking the door."

Understanding that Omi didn't want to drop the rest of the chain on his head, Yohji struggled to his feet, dragging the metal bar and a good bit of the loosened chain out of the way. Then he flinched from the noise as the rest of it crashed to the floor. It made a hell of a leash and his hands might still be trapped, but his legs were free. He dragged the whole mess toward the stairs not caring how much his body ached from the strain; he was determined to get out of there under his own power if at all possible. He made his stumbling way toward the stairs, falling against the flimsy handrail with a gasp when he made it there. He stared up it bleakly a moment before blinking down at his awkwardly bound hands. Well, there was no way he was getting up those steep stairs dragging all that chain. He looked up at Omi plaintively.

"Hey, kiddo, need some help here."

A hand touched his shoulder, making him flinch and look over his shoulder into Ken's grinning face.

"What did you put on the door?" Yohji asked, grinning briefly back at him, relieved to see him active after the wound he'd taken. Hell, relieved to just see them both there to pull his ass out of the fire. Ken's injured arm was immobilized, but he seemed otherwise fine. Yet he knew with the right kind of drugs, a dying man could get up and dance. Ken's eyes seemed a little glazed, now that he looked closer, but he was moving without pain - for now. Ken lifted up the bar on his arms - earning a stifled groan from Yohji for the strain it put on his sore shoulders - and examined the restraints more closely. Heavy-duty leather buckles. Tough to deal with one-handed, Yohji knew.

"A couple wedges," Ken said distractedly, frowning darkly at the buckles. "Hey, Omi, you'll have to get these."

Wedges? They had maybe a few minutes then, but not much longer. He was surprised they weren't listening to Shiroi's men beating on the door already.

Then a deeper concern flared. "Where's Aya?" he asked urgently.

Ken shot him a sidelong look, a predatory grin on his lips. "He's taking care of the rest of the distractions."

"What?" Yohji said, eyes widening in alarm. "He could barely stand!"

Omi clattered down the steps beside them, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. "It's been more than a day since he escaped, Yohji-kun," Omi informed him, his nimble fingers already hard at work on the buckle closest to him. "He's over the side-effects of the drugs the doctor gave him." Yohji blinked at them both in shock. A full day? Shiroi had kept him under that long? Why? What the hell had the sick bastard been up to? Yohji resolved to get himself checked out with a full physical at the first opportunity.

The second cuff fell away and Omi was almost instantly dashing back up the shaky stairs. He rubbed the abraded skin of his wrists, glad to be free. Then Ken nudged him toward the steps and he went, climbing awkwardly with the other man hot on his heels. Now that he was moving faster, he felt a stabbing protest from his ribs, aching from the beating Shiroi had given him earlier. He wrapped one arm around himself as he climbed, gasping shallowly for breath as he half hauled himself up to the top.

Omi stood at one of the catwalk junctions further ahead, urgently gesturing him on as he made the top. Yohji paused to catch his breath, wincing and hunching over.

"We've got to hurry, Balinese!"

"I'm comin'," he groaned, wishing they'd thought to bring him some boots. The open mesh grating of the catwalk was going to be savage on his bare feet. Ken glanced down and hissed in sympathy.

"I'd carry you, but..." he began, gesturing toward his bound arm. Yohji shook his head impatiently.

"Don't be stupid." He pushed away from the railing, following Omi toward a door set high in the back wall of this torture chamber. He couldn't wait to get out of here. Ken trailed close behind him, throwing the occasional wary look back at the wedged door below them. So far no one seemed to be testing it from the other side. That lack was beginning to bother him. He tried to hurry, but running was out of the question.

By the time he reached the open door and the narrow access hall beyond, his feet were tender and bruised. He was forced to pause inside the doorway to catch his breath, suspecting Shiroi might have actually cracked one of his rib in his enthusiasm earlier. His side hurt like a hot poker had been shoved into it and he was sweating despite being half-naked.

Omi was watching him anxiously. "Are you all right, Yohji-kun?"

"I'm alive, aren't I?" he said shortly, pushing away from the wall with determination. He had a goal of his own now. To see for himself that Aya was fine. "Let's get out of here."

He followed Omi down the dim corridor, limping badly now, both arms clutched around his body. Ken would put his hand on his back from time to time to steady him, but he made it to the far end on his own.

Omi was waiting for them again at the door at the far end, frowning down at his watch.

"What's the hold up?" Yohji wheezed.

"Waiting for mark," Omi said, reaching under his jacket to take out a small automatic pistol. He checked the clip and safety, then offered it butt first to Yohji. Who took it and checked it himself, flipping off the safety himself, grateful to be armed again even if it wasn't his wire. He wasn't sure he could manage it right now anyway. "Just a few more minutes," Omi continued, glancing at him and smiling encouragingly. "Shiroi doesn't seem to have a lot of men. They're good, but limited. The levels above are a legitimate research facility - it's only these lower levels where he has complete control."

"Don't bet on it. It's an Esset facility," Yohji muttered.

Omi glanced at him sharply, voice rising a little in alarm. " _Esset_? How do you know?"

"He all but told me."

Omi and Ken exchanged alarmed glances. "If he's Esset, what does he want with a thug like Homa, then?" Ken asked, confused.

Yohji shrugged and instantly regretted it as his ribs and shoulders protested. "Well, we pretty effectively wiped out most of their command structure. I think he's trying to rebuild a power base of his own." He kept the information about Aya's sister to himself for now. Aya deserved to hear it first.

Omi was frowning darkly now. "We wondered why the police weren't called in when the building staff discovered Homa's men - even if it is the weekend, someone should have noticed."

"Shiroi's men probably cleaned up the mess," Yohji said with a sigh, leaning back against the wall for a moment to gather strength. Which was doubtless why Shiroi had had plenty of time to 'play' with him and Aya personally. He cautiously took a deeper breath. "You guys should know, I think he's got a talent like those Schwarz bastards. He seemed to know what Aya and I were... feeling."

Omi paled while Ken frowned in confusion. "You mean like Mastermind?"

"No, not thoughts, just he could tell when he was... getting to us. When he was on the right track, that kind of thing. Far too well to just be guessing." Yohji shuddered, fighting back the charged, guilty memories of Aya's nude body arching high while Shiroi urged him on and his own body responded helplessly to the sight. Oh, yes, Shiroi had known all too well how he was getting to them... both of them.

"You think he's an empath? Someone who reads emotions?" Omi said, looking concerned and a little ill at the whole idea.

"Is that the name for it?" Omi nodded weakly as Yohji frowned. That just made it all the worse, somehow. The world was plagued by enough monsters even given normal human limitations. There were some things that should stay in books and legends - or nightmares... like all of Schwarz.

Ken shifted toward the door, made uncomfortable as always by the talk of powers and odd talents. "It's almost mark," he interrupted. Omi snapped back into mission-mode, his expression going blank as he lifted his crossbow and set the bolt while Ken checked the door.

"What's mark?" Yohji asked just as a series of rumbling blasts echoed through the walls. Dust sifted down through the air and the lights flickered briefly before steadying.

"Explosions, what else?" Ken said with a grin before he darted out through the door, Omi on his heels. Yohji followed along as best he could into a vaguely familiar-looking hallway. He soon realized it was almost identical to the one he and Aya had stumbled into outside their 'hospital' room. Elevator shaft at one end, exit stairwell at the other, a few unmarked doors lining the hallway between. This time, Ken and Omi lead him toward the elevator, where the car was waiting, locked off and dark.

"How far down are we?" Yohji asked breathlessly as he joined them inside the car, leaning heavily against the wall. Omi was already crouched down next to the dismembered control box, fiddling with a hastily patched-in panel.

"Nine levels," Ken said as the elevator lights came on and the door slid closed. The car jerked roughly into motion. "This'll take us all the way to the second floor where the cover offices are."

"We have to fight our way down again?" Yohji said grimly. He'd slow the others down, he knew, but he'd do his damnedest to keep up.

"Not if Aya-kun has taken care of the back exit," Omi said, grinning up at him with confidence.

Yohji fell silent, gathering his energy for what was to come.

~*~*~*~*~

The elevator came to a jerky stop, the lights flickering out even as the doors slid open. Omi ripped his control box out of the elevator controls, ignoring the shower of sparks the action produced, a satisfied grin on his face. Apparently this elevator wouldn't be going anywhere else anytime soon. Yohji waited while Ken and Omi peered cautiously around the opened doors. The way ahead was clear because both of them slipped out into the hallway, Omi gesturing urgently to him to follow.

Yohji forced his protesting body into motion, feet and body aching worse after a few minutes spent unmoving in the elevator. The gun Omi had given him was heavy in his hand and meant he could only wrap one arm around his sore ribs.

Ken led the way this time, racing silently down one side of the hall, crouched low and looking quite feral. Omi made sure Yohji was in front of him as he watched their back. The cool tile floor felt almost soothing on his abused feet.

The halls were all interior with no windows and mostly dark, lit only by night panels every twenty meters or so. Locked office doors lined the walls. It was a big building, part of a much larger, sprawling semi-industrial research complex. Five floors and two legitimate basement levels, plus Shiroi's little playground beneath.

It felt like they'd walked a few kilometers or so, getting deeper and deeper into the building before Ken held up his good hand in warning at one corner. They'd been moving silently, no chit-chat. There hadn't been any more explosions since the ones that had been their clue to go, and there were no alarms going off anywhere that he could hear. Omi's work too, no doubt. There were no signs of live guards or Shiroi's men yet either. Occupied elsewhere, probably. Omi drew close, his crossbow ready, coming up around Yohji to crouch beside Ken.

"Are we still on schedule?" Omi whispered, a little strained. Ken glanced at Yohji before nodding. Yohji knew he'd been holding them back, but not how much. He tried to straighten up, failed.

"Where do we meet Aya?" he asked, keeping his voice as low as Omi's. Ken glanced at him curiously, frowning slightly.

"Later."

"We're leaving him here?" Yohji said, voice rising slightly in alarm. Omi frowned at him now too even as Ken full-on glared at him, shaking his head in disgust.

"He took out thirty rogue US Marines alone once - why are you worried about him?" Ken hissed.

"Shiroi... he's like Schwarz," Yohji said, trying to bury his unease and failing. Aya, alone and without back-up against Shiroi. He didn't like it at all. "Don't underestimate him."

"Aya-kun knows what he's up against," Omi said reassuringly. He put a hand on Yohji's shoulder, squeezing gently enough that Yohji didn't even wince. "He'll be fine, Yohji-kun. Besides, Shiroi's hurt. He'll be the one on the run now."

"Maybe," Yohji conceded unwillingly. Without their cooperation, he'd never find Aya in this maze in time, even if the swordsman did need his help. And he was injured and hampered without even shoes on his feet as well. There wasn't anything he could do except leave Aya behind to do what Aya did best...

Omi patted his shoulder, an encouraging smile on his face. "Let's go, Yohji-kun, we're almost there," he said and with a quick look around the corner, disappeared down the other hall. Ken was still frowning at him, puzzled. Yohji ignored him and followed reluctantly after Omi, letting Ken pick up the rear again as they headed for freedom.

~*~*~*~*~

"Tell me again when he was supposed to meet him?" Yohji demanded, getting up to pace restlessly across the main room of the house they'd rented for their stay in Kobe. Ken glared at him from his place stretched out on the low couch, his bad shoulder propped up by pillows.

"He's not that late and you know it, Yohji, so sit the hell down and quit pacing, you're making me dizzy," Ken growled irritably. He looked pale and wan, a damp cloth laid over his forehead. The drugs he'd used to manage the rescue mission had run out on him just after they reached the stolen car hidden outside the research complex's fence. There they discovered he'd re-opened his wound somewhere along the way and simply hadn't noticed under the influence. Blood had soaked the new leather jacket he wore through. Yohji, as sore as he was, had had to drive so that Omi could tend Ken before the idiot bled to death. At least they'd thought to bring along full changes of clothes for all of them in the car. Yohji had dressed gratefully. His spare watch and cigarettes were even there as well. He'd taken a deliberately round-about and lengthy route back to the house to make certain they weren't being traced.

Yohji shot Ken an annoyed look, raking his hands through his hair before slumping back down in the chair he'd just left. He hated waiting. He hated being this on edge more.

According to plan, one of them was to immediately take the car and dispose of it, then meet up with Aya at a shrine in the city where they had hidden alternate clothing for him as well and then return here with him by taxi. Those tasks had fallen to Omi, since Yohji was too visibly bruised to visit a shrine and Ken was weak from blood loss.

That rendezvous had been scheduled to take place hours ago. Omi had called them once from his cell phone to tell them he'd safely disposed of the stolen car, then again to tell them he was at the shrine and while he had yet to see Aya, he had apparently not been there to retrieve the clothes left for him either.

Yohji was about ready to tear his hair out, imagining several all too likely scenarios. Aya wounded and bleeding his life away in a dark alley somewhere. Aya trapped in the complex, waiting for back-up that would never come. Aya helpless in Shiroi's hands again. He leaned forward in the chair, burying his head in his hands, aware that Ken was both annoyed and confused by his odd behavior but he couldn't stop it. He reached for his cigarettes again, shaking one out of the pack and lighting it. It had been a full pack when he found it waiting for him in the car - already half were gone.

"What happened with this Shiroi guy anyway?" Ken asked after a moment, almost making him jump out of his skin.

"What do you mean?" Yohji said, keeping his gaze fixed on a dark stain on the ugly carpet as he tried to keep his reaction under control when immediately images of Aya helpless and bound on the hospital bed while Shiroi ran his corpse-pale hand over him flooded his mind - followed swiftly by the memory of Aya in the stairwell, eyes flashing with anger as he reached up to pull him down for the kiss he'd demanded.

"Aya's been acting weird ever since he got of out that place too," Ken said, and he could see the other man watching him intently from the corner of his eye. He refused to look at him, taking a deep drag on his cigarette instead.

"Weird? How so?" he said as blandly as possible as he exhaled smoke. Ken shook his head in disgust.

"The two of you are barely even civil these days... since the Rats." Ken hesitated over the mention, still hung up on the boy Akira's fate. "But now all of a sudden Aya won't let up on Omi and me until we've worked out a plan to get you out of there as soon as possible."

"Are you telling me you would rather have left me there, Kenken?" Yohji said wryly, gaze flickering to the other man at last and meeting the thoughtful stare. Ken flushed - at least as much as he was able after the blood loss - and was the first to glance away.

"No, shit, that's not what I meant you bastard," he said, gaze shifting back as an angry glare now. "It was the way he acted... all focused and cold like he gets whenever his sister's mentioned."

Something odd ran through Yohji then; warm and unexpected and more than a little alarming. But truths were far easier to face when one was convinced one didn't have long to live. Living with them might be too much for his already burdened soul to bear. It would be far easier to pretend none of it had happened... they were both men, after all... assassins... teammates... what future did they have anyway? But he wasn't sure he could forget so easily - at least not until he'd seen Aya once more.

Ken's cell phone rang shrilly on the coffee table beside him, and Yohji all but leapt on it. Glad for the distraction from both Ken and his own thoughts.

"Aya?"

"No, it's me again, Yohji-kun," Omi's subdued voice said into his ear. "I'm sorry, but he's still not here."

"You're sure you're at the right shrine?"

"Yes, Yohji-kun," Omi said, sounding weary. "Aya-kun picked it himself." Yohji chewed at a small swollen spot on the inside of his lower lip, ignoring the sting of the larger split Shiroi had given him as he fought back a surge of apprehension, of fear. "How... long do you think I should wait here?" Omi asked.

 _Forever_ , he wanted to say. _Let me come take your place_ , he amended it to almost immediately. But he said neither, letting out a slow, unsteady breath before he finally did speak.

"Just come back, Omi. He knows where the house is."

"Yohji-kun..."

"Just come home, Omi." He disconnected the call and let the phone fall to the dingy carpet between his feet.

~*~*~*~*~

Much later, Ken was settled in his own room, deeply asleep and Omi had come back to the house safely alone. The boy had returned, face drawn with exhaustion, eyes worried, just a few hours before false dawn lightened the sky.

There had still been no word from Aya.

Yohji stood by the window of the tiny bedroom he'd claimed, the narrow bed undisturbed behind him, smoking and staring out into the overgrown side yard. Untrimmed bushes and trees spilled over the fences and pressed up against the house, partially obscuring the windows of the shabby suburban house in a deteriorating neighborhood. It was one of the reasons they'd rented it - so their comings and goings would be harder to note.

He wasn't particularly tired yet. Probably from the 24-hours of drug-induced rest he'd received courtesy of Shiroi. His ribs still hurt, but Omi's rough nursing skills were enough to determine that while none were actually broken, one or two might be cracked. A few aspirin and an athletic bandage for support had taken care of part of the ache, but Omi hadn't wanted to give him anything stronger after Shiroi's unknown cocktail. That suited Yohji just fine; he'd had enough of high-power drugs for a while. His cigarettes had helped soothe his aches more than the aspirin.

Outside, the normal world was waking up and starting to go about it's calm, ordinary business. Birds were calling to each other in the trees outside; a dog barked somewhere when a car started, faint and muffled by distance. The cloying shadows of night were falling to the rose and peach and pale blue of dawn.

The door slid open behind him, nearly noiseless in it's track. He heard motion and the rustle of clothing as someone entered, then the door slid closed again with a soft thump. His pulse leaped, blood rushing deafeningly for a moment in his ears.

"I didn't think you were going to come back," he said after a long moment of silence, not bothering to turn around. The cigarette in his hand trembled slightly, the smoke fluttering up, it's steady stream disturbed by the motion.

"You know that isn't an option for any of us," the familiar deep voice said quietly.

"No," Yohji said with a sigh, reaching forward to crush out the cigarette in the saucer littered with several more butts that sat on the windowsill in front of him. "We don't have a lot of choices left to us, do we?"

It was a rhetorical question and deserved the silence it received. He folded his arms carefully over his chest before leaning forward enough to press his forehead against the cool glass.

"I want to kiss you again," he said to the windowpane, watching his breath cloud the surface. There was no reply. He waited, frozen, pulse tripping faster, until he couldn't stand it any more and turned slowly around, leaning back against the wall.

He looked across the bed and the slowly brightening room to find Aya standing in front of the door, wearing a tee shirt and dark pants. His expression was flat and unreadable, the narrow gaze fixed steadily on him. There was no anger in that gaze, no disgust or outrage, but no welcome either. It raked over him pausing on the darkening bruises on his face and throat, and the grim mouth tightened further.

"What did he do to you?" Aya asked. Yohji let the corner of his mouth turn up slightly in an ironic smile as he listened to the urgent throb of his own pulse sounding the word _fool fool fool_ in his ears.

"Beat the shit out of me because I wouldn't give him what he wanted."

The slim brows rose in silent inquiry.

"Your sister."

Something dark and savage flared in Aya's eyes then, his slack hands fisting at his sides. "How does he know about her?"

"He's Esset. He's the doctor who... prepared her for that ceremony."

Aya's face clouded with fury as he silently absorbed the information.

"We'll have to hunt him down; Omi only grazed him," Yohji went on, letting his hands fall to his sides. He briefly wished he hadn't crushed out his cigarette so he'd have something to do with his hands, but he didn't want to light another.

"I know," Aya said, his expression still dark as he stared off into the middle distance, maybe bitterly regretting an opportunity passed by to take out the doctor sometime during the night.

"He doesn't know who you are... but I think he suspects," Yohji added, remembering Shiroi's odd comments about recognizing him.

"We will hunt him," Aya said starkly.

"We'd better, because he's sure as hell going to come after us," Yohji said. He stared at Aya then, out of words, but feeling the throb of his blood, urgent through his body. The other man stood silent, lost in dark contemplation for long minutes, until finally he lifted his gaze to Yohji's again.

"This was never supposed to happen," Aya said, something smoldering in the depths of his gaze and Yohji's heart lurched wildly in his chest. _Heat._ The heat he remembered from so long ago. Unleashed at last.

"You think I planned for this?" Yohji took a step away from the wall, watching Aya intently. "This is so fucking stupid I can't believe it." He took another step, around the end of the bed and Aya's head turned to follow his slow approach. "You aren't tied up or drugged all to hell now." Aya waited silently, watching him. Yohji felt a slow, liquid smile stretch his lips - the pain inconsequential - as he reached Aya's side.

Aya's head had tipped back the fraction necessary to keep their gazes locked, ragged red bangs shading his eyes. He licked his lips slowly, deliberately, it seemed, then let them part.

"I want you to fuck me," Aya said and the bottom dropped out of Yohji's stomach.

He was already reaching for him. "Hell, yes," he all but growled.

Aya didn't move away or struggle as hands closed on his shoulders then pushed him back firmly into the wall. The heavy-lidded eyes held his gaze steadily even as he closed on him. Yohji followed the fold of his arms, moved up hard against Aya and pressed them tight from chest to thigh.

Heat. No ice at all. Pure, deadly heat. Maybe the heat targets saw before they died on his blade. He didn't care. It was his at last. Yohji leaned down, mouth already opening, eyes slipping closed. Feeling as if he needed to be welded to the lean, hard body against his. Needed it more than air. Aya's lips parted, a quick puff of breath washing over his before they touched then... fire. Searing, tingling through his mouth at the contact until it was all he could feel. The awareness of Aya pressed against him stealing all thought.

He didn't hesitate, but forced his tongue deep into Aya's mouth. Felt Aya's jaw relax, his lips soften to let him in. Instant surrender. He made a low sound of satisfaction deep in his throat, blood racing hard through his veins and throbbing all along his skin everywhere he touched the other man.

Tongues slid against each other, tangling slick and hot and urgent. Breaking away, his traced along sharp teeth, before it probed deeper, testing. Aya just opened his mouth wider, taking him in. His sore lip protested, but he ignored it, flicking his tongue deep, searching for hesitation, rejection. Found none. Was pleased when strong, competent hands finally flattened tight against his back, across his shoulders, as if it might be possible to draw him even closer.

The pressure made him surge up, thighs pulsing, hardened flesh riding against the angular hips trapped by his own. Sweet agony. His hands found themselves wound in thick hair, fingers threading deep. He tilted Aya's head back, rolling it against the wall and tearing their mouths apart only to trail his own down the raised chin, along the faintly rough jaw. His lips found the sleek shape of an earlobe, sucked on it gently to the sound of unsteady gasps for breath. The hands on his back moved higher, cupped his shoulders until the spread fingers bit deep.

He pulled one hand out of Aya's hair, dropped it to the gently bulging shoulder muscle beneath, slid it along the arm, tracing it back until he caught a strong wrist. He slammed it against the wall above Aya's head, leaning on the arm with his own, hips surging up quick and hard. It almost hurt, almost... so firm, Aya's body against his. Nothing soft about him at all. Completely male and unyielding... His cock trapped within his pants ached from the friction, the constriction, the heat as he thrust against him again.

The first sound left Aya then; a soft, shuddering groan. He smiled against the skin beneath Aya's ear. It was intoxicating, that sound. Heady. He mouthed the tender skin, tongue darting out to taste, to tease. Another soft groan rolled from the throat beneath his mouth.

In a flash he had Aya's other wrist in hand, twisted it up and trapped it with the first. Used one hand to cover both, pressing them hard against the wall even as he shifted himself to the side, dropping his free hand down between them, stroking it along Aya's body until it reached his groin. Pressed it down over the hard length he found straining against the zipper of the dark slacks, cupping him reverently, his mouth falling open to breathe out sharply in satisfaction against Aya's neck. He buried his face in thick red hair that smelled of sweat and cordite as his pulse thundered in his ears. Such heat... all for him...

"You've been fucked before?" he asked. Wanting to know, not wanting to know.

Aya shuddered briefly, swallowed. Stayed silent for too long; long enough that Yohji knew he wasn't going to answer him. The wrists in his grasp flexed slightly but he only tightened his grip and slid a thigh between Aya's, trapping his own hand beneath it over Aya's twitching cock. The other man hissed slightly, rising up against the pressure.

"That hurt?" Yohji said, voice pitched deliberately low, mouth vibrating against Aya's throat.

The pale throat bobbed as he swallowed again. "Uncomfortable," Aya admitted.

"Answer my question, then," he purred dangerously, mouth moving on skin. The need to know had sharpened on Aya's reluctance.

"Yes," Aya said at last, voice huskier, deeper even than normal. "I have been fucked before."

Darkness flared. Anger. Jealousy. "Who?"

"No one you would know."

He rocked his thigh up a fraction, tightening his hand. "That's not what I asked..."

Aya grunted. Gasped out, "Yuushi Honjyo."

He eased the pressure slightly. "Who was he?"

"A teammate. From Crashers."

He had to fight to keep from squeezing again as anger washed through him. Crashers was another of Kritiker's teams. One that Aya had left without permission to go solo in pursuit of his revenge; the reason Weiß had first hunted him down all that time ago. Aya was panting slightly, had risen up on the balls of his feet, head arched back against the wall as his arms flexed. Pale skin bloomed with a light sheen of sweat. Yohji licked beneath the tight jaw, tasting it, struggling with the shockingly intense sense of possessiveness that threatened to overcome his control. No woman had ever made him feel quite this way, not even Asu--

But then he'd never waited this long for a woman before either... Or wanted for so long without having...

"This a habit of yours? Fucking teammates?" His voice was sharp, hard.

"No."

"No?" Disbelieving. Faintly outraged.

Aya's voice dropped, was little more than breath. "I haven't fucked you yet."

Aya-logic. Splitting hairs; so literal and completely without humor. Yohji laughed anyway, soft and low. He softened his grip, eased his thigh away enough so that Aya drew a deeper, if faintly unsteady, breath.

"No, not yet. You're right." He drew back further, looking into the other man's face framed between his upraised arms. Wanted things then that he shied away from, falling into the safer realm of lust and residual anger. "But you want me to change that."

The closed eyelids flickered, slowly opened. He looked into glittering eyes, drowned in liquid heat. Challenge. Impatience. Longing.

"Yes."

He covered those lips before the word could fade away, taking it in. Aya's hips surged against his thigh, rolling hardness against muscle provocatively. He smiled smugly against Aya's lips, the sting from the split in it reminding him briefly of Shiroi... of what they'd endured... He shook the sobering thoughts away with determination as his hand slowly gathered up soft cotton at Aya's waist, tugging the plain tee-shirt gradually free of the slacks. Aya's breath sucked in around his mouth as his fingers skimmed over the tight stomach muscles, then down, making the lean belly quiver briefly. It was slightly awkward to undo the button backwards and with only one hand without moving away, but he managed it, mouth still moving on Aya's - tasting, absorbing - the while.

The zipper fell easily beneath his deft touch. He was faintly surprised when Aya's cock surged free of the fabric and into his hand. No underwear. He would never have guessed it... unless...

He drew back, releasing Aya's mouth at last. Devoured with his gaze the faintly flushed face, the closed eyes, the parted lips glistening with his own saliva. Oh yes... he wanted it... wanted _him_. He stroked the silken length in his hand slowly and watched the hidden eyes flicker beneath the lids, the mouth part more, heard breath come faster.

The pale chin lowered, the eyes opened fractionally, watching him as he stroked faster, hand sure and knowing. The cock in his hand swelled more, slick fluid seeping from the end. He swirled it around, listening eagerly to the soft sound of wetness, of flesh-in-flesh. Aya let out a single panting gasp, lower lip trembling faintly as his breathing roughened. Yohji stared at it, fascinated, stroking faster when the tip of a pink tongue darted out to wet the drying skin. Could almost imagine that normally grim mouth wrapped around his own cock... eager... taking him in... He pulsed against Aya's hip, groaning himself now, loud and deep.

"Come for me, Aya," he said, low, raw. "Give me something to fuck you with..."

Aya's wrists surged against his imprisoning hand, eyes clenching closed as narrow hips thrust and shuddered; the cock in his hand was pulsing - thick, hot come splattering messily across Aya's own belly, against Yohji's shirt, over his fingers. He groaned along with Aya, face tilting down the better to see, teeth clenching as he milked the last spurts from Aya's cock and watched them spill over his hand, wasted. Not like before... infinitely better... because it was his hand on Aya this time...

"So fucking hot... damn..." Yohji gasped, feeling almost as if he'd come himself, despite the pulsing, aching evidence otherwise inside his far-too-tight pants. He lifted his head slowly, looking into Aya's tipped-back face. Aya's mouth was open wide and he was panting for breath, the flush on his face making his skin glow as his head rolled slack between faintly trembling arms.

He lifted fingers covered with sticky white come and wiped them over the reddened lips. Leaned forward eagerly then and licked the yeasty, dry flavor off Aya's lips before carrying it into Aya's own mouth with his tongue, sharing it with him. Aya moaned, lips pushing against his in response, tongue tangling with his as if eager for the taste of himself.

Mouth slid over mouth, working, sucking, pulling. His loosened hair brushed against Aya's, shadowing them both, red and gold strands tangling like their breath. So hot and moist, so eager... After long moments of this, Yohji eased his crushing grip on his wrists, lowering them down until Aya's arms lay loosely around his shoulders before releasing them. Then only to wrap his arms tightly around Aya, drawing him hard against him as mouth continued to move on mouth, wet, seeking, both of them greedy and frantic. There was damp heat between them - Aya's come - soaking into his shirt over his own belly. He groaned deep in his throat at the recognition. Aya made an urgent sound in reply, leaning into his hold, arms tightening around him in return as fingers slid up to tangle in Yohji's hair before fisting there as he shifted away from the wall.

It was an awkward dance, shuffling backwards - Aya leaning into him as if he would fall otherwise - while keeping their mouths still fused, but Yohji let momentum guide them back across the tiny room. Ready for more... for everything... He felt the edge of the bed hit his calf and collapsed back slowly, controlling it so that when he lay flat Aya was draped across his less sore side. Despite his care, his ribs twinged painfully and he mentally cursed Shiroi for losing control there at the end. He stiffened for a moment, willing the pain to subside, and Aya shifted away, breaking the kiss at last to suck in deep, unsteady breaths. His brows lowered in a faint frown as he looked into Yohji's face, then he pulled his hand free of the tangle of Yohji's hair to straighten up slightly, the frown growing stronger.

"You're injured."

"Yeah," he said, meeting the cooling stare with undiminished heat of his own. Oh no, there'd be no backing out now. "But I'm still going to fuck you..."

He skimmed a hand down the lean back, fingers sweeping under the loosened waistband of Aya's slacks to brush across the upper swell of his ass. His hand lingered, tracing first one sleek rise then the other on either side of the narrow dip between, eyes slipping closed in concentration. So perfect... His finger trailed along that soft line, amusement twisting his lips as Aya tightened his butt, trapping his fingertip briefly.

He looked up into annoyed lavender eyes, illuminated clearly by the strengthening morning light.

"Idiot. It'll hurt more like this."

"Not if you do all the work," he said, the smirk widening as his meaning sank in and Aya's eyes flared dangerously.

"All right." Aya slid back out of his grasp as the calm words sank in, sending a flare of heat through him that made him groan. He wanted to lunge up, catch him and draw him back, but he swiftly discovered moving from horizontal to vertical in a hurry was not an option with his sore ribs. He was reduced to gasping and clutching at them for the pain that stabbed through him at the aborted effort. He should have stayed standing up.

Aya stood beside the bed, watching him for a moment before pale hands crossed at his waist and in one easy motion lifted, stripping the tee-shirt away over his head. Baring his pale, lean-muscled torso still smeared with white along his belly. The open slacks hung precariously low on his hips. With a brush of his hands they fell away, down his legs, and he stepped out of them, naked. Yohji stared at the body revealed, marveling anew at the grace of the other's motions, the clean lines of his form. So perfect, save for the dull shine and faded white of scars, the shadows of bruises. His half-softened cock lay between his thighs, framed by soft red hair.

Before he could protest the distance between them, Aya was kneeling between his legs where they dangled over the side of the bed. Nudging them wider to fit himself closer. His hands skimmed up from knee to inner thigh, thumbs brushing across the blatant bulge beneath Yohji's pants. Yohji sucked in a sharp breath at the touch, hips rolling back and surging up, the pressure on his ribs and the contact both making him groan.

"Don't tease," he said.

"I won't." Fingers were tugging at the snap of his pants, sliding down the tight zipper, delving beneath his boxers to find his aching length. He hissed in another sharp breath at the first touch of Aya's hand. It was just a quick exploration but still made him bite his lip to keep from coming right there, so tormented was he; then Aya's sure hands were stripping away his pants, and he was staring at the bent red head hungrily as the other man worked. Wanting to reach and grab and take, but also enthralled by the image of Aya serving him so intimately. Wanted more of that as well.

When his clothes were gone, Aya leaned over him, hands bracketing his hips, and looked down at him with the long eartails dangling around his face, his bangs a ragged curtain above darkened eyes. Yohji ran his hands up the lean forearms, stroking the warm flesh, savoring the contact - but wanting Aya's body on his more. He almost pulled him down on top of him; barely restrained himself but the curiosity over what Aya would do next won out.

"Do you have sexual lubricant nearby?" Aya asked, brows rising in inquiry.

His directness made Yohji grin, even as his cock leaped in anticipation, a thread of fluid drooling from the tip. It was a refreshing change after pandering to the romantic pretensions of the women he normally bedded. No hesitation, even this late in the game. No coyness. Just raw wanting and the willingness to satisfy it.

"In the nightstand."

Aya leaned to the side, tugged the drawer open. Shot Yohji a contemplative sidelong glance for what Yohji knew already jammed the drawer; glossy magazines featuring lush, half-naked women, vibrators, condoms, feathers and silk scarves, several bottles of massage oil - flavored and not - as well as some garishly labeled tubes of lubricant. He grinned back unabashed; that was nothing compared to the collection he'd amassed back in his rooms above the Koneko. Aya reached inside and fumbled until he found something acceptable. Tossed it onto the bed beside them before closing the drawer again, a slight scowl on his face.

"Hedonist."

"You know it." Yohji let his grin fade into a smile filled with sultry promise, lifting his hands to run them up Aya's arms again, catching at his biceps this time and pulling him down toward him. Not waiting any longer. The longer strands of hair that framed the pale, now somber face tickled his chest as Aya neared.

He let his smile fade against the faintly swollen lips. They still tasted faintly of Aya's essence. Aya opened to him without hesitation again, tongue sliding against his, sleek and slow, dulling his impatience. He hummed deep in his throat in pleasure, pressing his tongue deep.

There was a languid fire to the embrace that made him wish again that he was not so bruised, a slack compliance in Aya's body after his release that made his own heart beat heavier, sent a eager surge through him, his cock aching. He was already so close... the brush of Aya's inner thighs as he settled over him nearly a torment. His hands lay low on that lean back, still and heavy.

Aya's hand moved down between them, skimming wrapped ribs, flattening across his belly. Moving lower without hesitation or awkwardness. Fingers laced by the precome leaking from the tip slid slick and cool down the aching length of his cock. Yohji broke the kiss to groan deeply, head rolling back, Aya's breath hot on his throat as he took him in hand, gripping tightly, stroking firmly. Heaven and hell: heaven, because it felt so damn good to have Aya touching him; hell, because he wanted so much more...

"No..." he gasped, need sharpening, urgency building as his hips thrust up instinctively into that warm grasp. "Too close..."

With a soft sound of acknowledgement the darkened gaze flickered with wry understanding, Aya released him to reach to the side, retrieving the tube of lubricant and opening it to squirt a generous glob out onto the fingers of his other hand. Yohji grit his teeth, already anticipating the touch of those glistening hands and bracing himself, desperate not to disgrace himself by coming early. It would be a near thing... He hissed as Aya's hand closed around him, slick and cool, smoothing the lube over him. The faint shock of it let him cling to his control. Barely.

"Oh hell..." His hips snapped up, driving hard into that slick grasp. His balls had drawn up, tight and ready. He ached with the need to just thrust and thrust until he came all over that pale, hard body. It would be good... but that wasn't his goal...

"Wait," Aya whispered, head bowed, shuttered gaze flickering from his face to his groin as he read his urgency. Aya released him to reach back between his own legs, brushing his own semi-rigid cock and slack sac aside to spread some of the remaining lube over his own skin, fingertips disappearing briefly from sight. Yohji swallowed hard, pulse crashing in his throat. Damn... had he just fingered himself? The mental image threatened to make his mind white out with raw desire. He'd never imagined Aya to be so sensual... or was it simply his endless practicality? It didn't matter now... he just knew he wanted to see that again sometime... Aya's own finger sliding inside that tight hole, glistening with slickness... He groaned, hands dropped down and clenching tight on Aya's hips as the other man rose up above him.

Aya paused, looking down at him from half-closed eyes, lips parted to let out fast, quick breaths. His face was flushed, sparkling in spots with beads of sweat. Red hair tumbled across it, sticking, drifting. No, not just practicality... heat and need poured off him, burned deep in Aya's eyes as he shifted position. One hand held his own cock aside as the other fitted Yohji's against him. He could feel the ring of flesh press against the head, slick and tight. Felt it flutter and ease after a moment, as Aya let out a shuddering breath and slowly lowered himself down.

Heat. Slick, incredible pressure. Yohji caught his lower lip between his teeth and bit down, working hard to control himself and the urge to just slam up and fill that tight passage in one thrust. But he forced himself to endure the slow, torturous entry punctuated by pauses as Aya's body adjusted to the intrusion. He understood that it had been a very long time for Aya, and the idea made him groan deep in his throat as he watched that pale body take his inside. He'd done it this way a few times before... been done himself, once... care was needed at first... but oh, gods...

Aya looked down at him as he took in another inch of flesh, his head rolling loosely to the side, mouth open as he panted shallowly, eyes hidden behind lids so low his eyes almost looked closed if not for the faint glitter just visible beneath thick lashes.

"Good?" Yohji gasped, tearing a hand away from Aya's hip to skim it up his tense arm and over his chest. Felt the urgent race of Aya's heart beneath his fingertips.

Aya just nodded once, eyes sliding all the way closed as he tipped his head back and drove himself further down. Then he paused again, panting, his hand trembling slightly as he braced it against Yohji's hip. His thighs were tense, his body arched and taut. Almost as if he were rejecting the penetration instead of initiating it, wavering across that thin line between pain and pleasure even as his own cock swelled again between his thighs.

Yohji swallowed hard at the sight. So incredibly erotic... more erotic than the most accomplished seductress... more erotic than anything he'd seen in years... maybe ever... "Can you take it? All of it?"

"I will."

The low promise made his blood throb, shattered his already stretched control.

"Yes, you will..." he said between gritted teeth, bracing his feet on the floor and pressing up, driving himself in to the root. Aya's eyes flew open and his head fell back, his mouth opening on a soundless cry. Yohji was panting himself, the sharpening ache from his ribs warning him that more vigorous motion would be punished, but the feel of Aya surrounding him completely was enough to make the pain something to worry about later, if then. Glorious, but too much too fast. Aya's breath was fast and sharp; his body clenching on Yohji almost painfully. He fumbled a hand down, wrapped it around Aya's now-rigid cock and began to stroke it in silent apology.

The crushing pressure eased after a few moments and Aya shuddered, head rolling forward, hair covering his eyes. Yohji frowned - concerned, chagrined, but teetering on the edge of control again. His blood was surging, demanding motion and the release it promised. "Okay?" he managed through gritted teeth.

Aya leaned forward abruptly, fisted hands coming to rest beside Yohji's shoulders. The violet eyes snapped opened, searing him with their heat.

"Impatient bastard."

He gave a pleased grin, relieved that he hadn't hurt the other man unduly, and gave the hard erection in his hand a slow stroke, the grin fading away as he looked up into Aya's eyes. "Fuck me," he breathed, flexing his hips, sliding himself inside Aya fractionally as example. So good... but his ribs screamed at him for even that much motion and he winced dramatically. "Fuck yourself on me... I can't do it myself..."

A tiny satisfied smile touched Aya's mouth as he leaned down closer to him, his gaze smoldering. "Serves you right."

"Aya..." he groaned in frustration, the name disappearing as their lips touched and Aya finally began to move. Slick motion. Heat. The cock in his hand sleek and hard. Aya's body lithe and quick above him, like fire, sending him spiraling up toward his peak. Fast. Aching. Lost in the heady, familiar longing to finish, to reach the release he craved, but wanting it to last forever too... forever with Aya...

He came with a startled cry, hips surging deep, lifting Aya briefly into the air as he arched up, balls emptying of the pure heat of satisfaction in pulse after pulse, the pain from his ribs mingling with the fire-bright sparks of release into a single, breath-stealing instant of eternity that focused down to the tight body over his, the hardness in his hand, the eager mouth that closed over his and devoured his cry.

He shuddered beneath Aya, letting him savage his mouth uncontested as he pumped out the last of his release deep inside the redhead's body. Aya's hand closed over his, urged him to stroke his forgotten cock faster, harder and he did so, listening hollowly to Aya's harsh breaths with his blood still thundering in his ears, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Felt the clench, the surge as Aya came again, wringing a second weak pulse from him; felt the hot splatters of Aya's come fall on his heaving belly as Aya shuddered against him.

He let his cock go then, wrapped his arms around lean shoulders and drew the other close, not caring about the twang from his ribs for the pressure, still struggling just to steady his breath again, mind wandering lost in a soft haze of true satisfaction that hadn't opened up to him in far too long. After an instant of resistance, Aya let himself be pulled down but held himself stiffly in his hold as he worked to catch his breath as well, forehead braced on Yohji's shoulder.

"Relax," he whispered into the red hair brushing his face, stroking a hand down the tense back.

"Your ribs?"

"I don't give a shit. I want to feel you."

With a slow shudder, Aya eased down against him until his chest lay against his side, shifting aside take some of the weight off his chest anyway. Sighing, Yohji slid one hand up Aya's back until his fingers tangled in red hair. Pressed Aya's face into the hollow of his neck and listened to his breathing come slowly to normal.

He was still inside Aya. Not hard anymore, but there. Aya's weight grew subtly heavier as his body went lax. It took only a few moments to realize he'd fallen asleep. Unlike him, Aya had had little rest since escaping Shiroi's clutches.

Yohji held Aya against him, struggling with a strange ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries as morning grew steadily brighter in the shabby room, the clear light of dawn filtering into it through the leaves of the untended trees outside.

\- - fin - -


End file.
